Children of Darkness
by AlyssC01
Summary: Twenty years have past since Christine left with Raoul. A new chorus girl with a secret she can't tell, has come to Paris Opera house in search of a future her past and fate wants to deny her... Will a broken shadow help or hinder her.
1. Prologue

_TITLE: Children of Darkness_

_AUTHOR: AlyssC01_

_RATING: PG-Little bit of minor language as usuall. _

_STATUS: Done? (Alyss starts laughing so hard she almost falls off of her chair.) No. Not done. _

_FEEDBACK: Please, but nothing negative if you can't help it. _

_Mama always said, if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all. _

_DISCLAIMER: Phantom of the Opera is owned by Andrew Loyd Webber and his music company. I do not make money out of it, nor do I want to. All original characters and story lines are the property of the owner. Read – do not kidnap them!_

_AN: My apologies, I'm using you all as guinea pigs. This is in respons to a literally competition so, I'm actually not allowed to put it up for all to read until it is completed (and in the hands of those who's organising everything) but, I want to know whether I have something here so please review! My apologies, I won't be able to update it that often. But, I will eventually! _

_I've been a fan of this music and story all my life and I hope that the upcoming movie will do it justice. I just wanted to add that. _

**Prologue:** **Lost in Darkness. **

"Oh dear…"  
Ann felt around her in the dark, paused and tried to listen.

Water dripped somewhere in the distance, a shuffle of tiny rodents feet and an occasional sound she could only describe as the building seemingly shifting its own weight.

Which, of course, it couldn't do as it was a solid structure… But still.

She sniffed and wrinkled her nose.  
Not an entirely pleasant smell.

"This isn't right." She muttered and shouldered the thin, thumb-thick rod like a club. She turned her head around in the darkness and bit her lip.

She didn't need help, she figured, but decided that it would be nice to know that there was somebody around.

"Hello…" Her voice echoed around her. "Is anybody…" The hollow darkness became too much for her as the last part of the sentence stuck in her throat. "There?"

There was no human answer and the rats were uninterested in helping.

"Oh dear…"  
Keeping her hand against the wall, Ann started to backtrack her steps. She should've waited for the Chorus Master-her common sense scolded her. This Opera house was a maze of levels, backstage doors and rumored secret passageways. She should've known that she wouldn't be able to find her way to the chorus's practicing room after only going there once.

"Stupid." She whispered, more to hear a sound other than the rats than actually berate herself. "Stupid, stupid, _sheize…!"_

She was in an ankle deep pool of water.  
She stepped back and, using the rod as probe, tried to determine how wide the pool was.  
It stretched the entire length of the passageway.

"Oh dear."  
This was not the way she had come.

Slowly, fighting panic, Ann began to admit to herself that she _might_ be in trouble.

"I should've brought a lamp instead of a stick." She muttered then laughed at her own stupidity.

The laugh chocked off as panic constricted her throat. Frustrated tears threatened her with eruption but she swallowed it down and slowly went back the way she came. When she reached the corner where she had gone wrong - she took a moment to find out how many passageways she had to choose from.   
There were five.

Now she knew that she was in trouble and hopelessly lost.

The urge to cry was stronger and it was enough motivation for her to swallow her pride.

"Somebody!" She called out. "Somebody please help me! I'm down here!" It was very discouraging to hear her own voice echo all around her. "I'm lost!" She tried again, as a small sob echoed in her ears. _I'm not going to start bawling!_

"Please! Please help me!" She swallowed and sank down against the cold damp wall, clutching the thin rod to her chest.

"Somebody! I'm here! Somebody!" She repeated the two cries over and over until her voice was hoarse.

Rubbing away escaping tears she hugged her knees to her body. Discouraging thoughts flashed through her mind as she unwittingly realized that in years to come they would most probably find her skeleton nestled amongst ages of rat droppings. That was to say, if the rats decided to leave some leftovers.

"Somebody…"

At a loss Ann resulted to the most important thing she had learned in life.

'_When in doubt… humm.'_  
She chose an old childhood song her mother had taught her.  
She got round to the first verse when she heard a shift of cloth.

Ann blinked and tried to determine from which direction it had come.

"Hello?" She tried tentatively. "I'm over here." She made to stand up but paused. The sound had disappeared and no one answered her call. Ann sat back slowly, trying to make herself small against the wall. If it wasn't the opera staff…

She bit her lip and tried to keep quiet but the darkness became overwhelming. Unable to stop herself she hummed the chorus as well.

"What are you doing here?"  
The voice echoed all around her. Ann jumped up with a startled cry, there was a second hollow sound as her rod bounced on the floor and rolled away.

"_Sheize."_ Ann stood against the wall, too scared to pick it up. "Who's there?"

There was a shift of fabric from another direction. Ann turned a bit to her left, trying to pinpoint its exact position.

"What are you doing here?" The voice asked again.  
Ann's head snapped to her right – they had her surrounded!

"I…" She paused and swallowed. _That_ tone of voice wasn't going to help her. "I'm lost." She admitted. "I'm new and…" There was a shift of fabric on her left. "I was looking for the chorus room and took a wrong turn which I thought was a short cut…"

She started to move away from the sound but jumped as the voice returned, almost right next to her.

"There are no shortcuts in this place."

There was a note of irritation in its tone. Ann slowly lowered herself and felt around for the stick.

"I wasn't paying attention." She muttered. Her rod was nowhere to be found, it must've rolled further. "Could you… help me?"  
His pause echoed louder than the steady drip of water that had come to her attention. She left the sanctuary of the wall to search further.

She only had a split second of shifting fabric to warn her that the person was close. Ann jumped up, back against the wall. Her heart thundered in her chest.

"Take it."

The irritation was still there was the owner of the voice moved in next to her. Swallowing Ann stuck out her hand and felt the stick.

"Follow me."

The sound of fabric moved away from her left.

Taking a quick breath to still her nerves Ann quickly followed the speaker. The pace he set was very fast and time-to-time Ann found herself unsteadily trotting to keep up. She managed quite well until there was a sudden raise in the ground.

Ann barely had time to cry out in surprise before she stumbled forward. There was a heartbreaking sound of her rod snapping. Ann stayed down, shocked and terrified. Shaking she felt along the length of the stick – her heart sank as she realized that it had snapped in the middle.

"No…" she moaned upset. "Damn it NO!"

In a fit of anger she seized the broken prop and flung it away.

"Damn it…"  
She stood up uncertainly and tried to get her bearings, hearing the disappearing footsteps she quickly headed off in their direction. She didn't get far when the stick that she had thrown away got caught between her legs and skirt. She hit the ground harder this time, a sharp sting traveling down her palm.

Lying in the dark, hearing the last echoes of the figure's footsteps disappear away in the dark Ann couldn't make herself get up again, feeling daunted and hopeless.

She pushed herself up and pushed her back against the wall – rubbing her hand over her face in an attempt to find comfort in the childhood gesture.  
_I still have a face; it didn't disappear just because I can't see it…_

"You are trying my patience child."

Despite the fact that she didn't hear the footsteps return Ann could've sworn that the person was right next to her.

"I can't see." She whispered.

An impatient shift of fabric.

"I'm standing here, come towards my voice then. I won't wait for you forever."

Ann shook her head, closing her eyes against frustrated tears.

"It's not that." She snapped. "I _can't_ see! Without that blasted stick I don't know what's in front of me!"

There was another, world changing pause. Ann could almost feel her fate swirl around her in the unending darkness.

Without warning, there a sound of a torch flaring up.

"Is this… better?"  
There was a change in the voice's tone, as if the presence of light brought an insecurity hidden by darkness.

Ann pulled herself into a small bundle; _her_ darkness was still around her. No torch could bring forth, or hide her insecurity.

"No. It's not."


	2. 1 Blind Child

_AN: Wow. Thanks for the respons you guys! More AN at the bottom._

* * *

**Chapter 1: Blind Child**

Mme Megan Giry knew no other life than that which the theatre offered her.

As a child she had grown up in the Paris Opera house with its beautiful décor, enchanting stories and dark secrets which had all but enslaved her for the first eighteen years of her life. Even after pursuing her own career for almost fifteen years she had found herself almost unwillingly returning to the place that had nurtured her for so long. Her mother had once told her that the Giry's had a responsibility to this house, something she didn't entirely believe or accept but something she couldn't deny. That responsibility had paled into the shadows though as she had decided to partake in another, one that, at this very moment she was regretting.

Meg grabbed the first ballet girl that twittered past.

"Have they found her yet?" She demanded as she turned to girl towards her.

The petite girl bobbed a curtsey and shook her head.

"No Mme Giry." She spoke with very heavy French. "The people, they are still looking. I will call you if they do."  
The ballet mistress patted her on the shoulder.

"Good girl." She encouraged. "Off with you now."

Meg watched her leave before she turned around and studied her surroundings, taken back to the countless times she had to hang around these same corridors, waiting for her practice sessions.

"Where could that accursed child have gone?" She muttered to herself, as she started to recheck all the rooms and corridors in the practice halls. Julianne could've gone anywhere and Meg began to darkly fear that she had managed to pass out of the places where _they_ could find her. The girl had no caution, no patience and no sense of direction.

Meg shook her head to herself and stopped.  
Something moved in the corner of her eye… A sense…

"_He's here!"_ She breathed before she could stop herself. "The Phantom… NO! Ann! Ann!"

A strange wild, almost hysterical fear bubbled up within her soul. If he found her… If he did…

"_Julianne!" _

"Aunt Meg!"

The voice sounded as if it came from just around the corner.

"Aunt Meg, I'm here!"  
Meg picked up her skirt and sprinted the last few steps. When she rounded the corner she nearly collided with a person standing in front of one of the service doors.

The girl gasped and took two steps back, her back touching the wall behind her.

Her dark hair was a messy array of out of place wisps and soft curls, framing her pale face and making her deep blue eyes seem even wilder as she searched around.

"_Julianne…"_ Meg breathed relieved and stepped closer to the girl. "Where have you been? Are you okay?"

The girl swallowed and took a hesitant step in her direction before she decided against it and rather moved further back against the wall, clutching her arms over her chest. Her clear eyes searched around for the source they would never find.

"I… Took a wrong turn." She managed. "My cane…" Her hand traveled to her face. "I got lost and…"

Meg didn't let her finish as she gasped softly and stepped right up to her. "You're bleeding!" She exclaimed. "Where are you hurt child?" She laid a gentle hand in the crook of her arm.

The girl stiffened and turned her head towards her. She dropped her arms slightly and clenched her left hand.

"I… fell." She said embarrass. "He was going so fast, I couldn't keep up. And then my cane broke…"  
She gave a start as she felt Meg's hand tighten around her elbow.

"_Who?"_ The older woman hissed under her breath.  
Her ward gasped and almost pulled away from her.

"I don't know!" She exclaimed. "It's not as if I could _see_ him. He didn't do anything, I promise. It was probably the rat catcher."  
She felt the grip on her arm relax.

"Of course." Meg said with a shake of her head as she pulled the girl forward and placed an arm around her middle. "How stupid of me. Who else could it be?"

The younger woman didn't seem very convinced as she turned a puzzled look in her direction.

"Who else in deed." She muttered. "Are we going to the chorus practice now?" Her initial fear had vanished and was slowly being replaced by enthusiasm.

Meg barked a dry laugh as she slowly urged her forward.

"Not now we're not." She said sternly. "I have the whole theatre looking for you."

The younger woman's face fell. "But…"

"No buts." Meg's tone was insistent. "We're going to the physician or _seamstress_ to have that hand looked at and then you can go to your room and contemplate the meaning of 'Wait for him here.' I can't believe you left by yourself. Do you know how long it took me to convince these people that they should take you in? They are waiting for you to make a mistake or give them a reason not to keep you here. And, your mother will have my head if she knew that I not only _lost_ you but let you get hurt…"  
She got a sniff for her lecture.

"My _mother_ would have your head if she knew that I was here _Mme_ Giry." The girl said dryly and stopped.  
Meg found it very ironic that she took the time to look back. She felt sudden cold shivers run down her ward's arm.

"His hands were _so_ cold." The girl spoke almost as if to herself, her voice distracted. "I've never…" She stopped, sensing her companion's unease.

"What is it Aunt Meg?" She hugged herself.

The woman shook her head.

"We should get you to the doctor." She said. "And, Julianne de Changy… You are never to walk around here alone again, is that understood?"

She had been born blind.

Six months into her pregnancy, Madame la Vicomtesse Christine de Changy, formerly Christine Daae got terribly ill with the German measles. She had recovered with no serious ill effects and, even for the first month after their first child's birth the de Changy's had no foretelling of their daughter's fate. It was only after she got older that they began to notice a certain _lack_ in her perception. By her eight-month, four physicians had given the same diagnosis.  
Little Julianne Christine de Changy would never see her parents and be limited to exploring the world with her touch and hearing for the rest of her life.

It had not stopped the young vibrant spirit of course. She had a passion for life that, to those who knew her, made her fate even more tragic. She wanted to try and _feel_ everything - never really considering the consequences of her actions. She played with those who accepted her and to date didn't begrudge those who didn't. She could run, ride – to her mother's horror – and later, when they allowed her, keep up with her two siblings who were five and seven years younger than her respectively.

And, twenty year old Julianne had a gift…

"Ouch damn it!"

Ann almost jerked away and covered her face with her one arm. The other was being firmly held down on the table by Mme Giry and the seamstress.

"Don't cuss child." The seamstress reprimanded her. "Do you need more light Monsieur Gaston?"

Doctor Jean Gaston shook his head and glared at the squirming young woman.

"I would advice you to sit still Mademoiselle." He said dryly, but not harshly. "You're only making it worse."  
Ann bit her lip and shook her head. With visible effort she tried to relax as she glared in the doctor's direction.

"That is very hard considering that I'm being tortured by a blunt needle… Ich…" She cut off her pained sound and put on a determined face. Despite herself Mme Giry gave her a pitying smile and shared a look with the seamstress.

The physician adjusted his glasses. "Last one." He reassured them as he prepared his last stitch. "Though, just a little observation my young Lady but, judging by the faint marks on your hands you should be use to this by now.

Ann was now sitting very still, beads of sweat on her face. "I don't always look where I'm going." She said lightly.

Mme Giry smiled. "For as long as I've known her," She added in a conversational voice, "young Ann had tried to touch anything that came her way – dangerous or not."

The girl smiled for a moment, her bright blue eyes sparkling to life.

"It was only your luck that you where there when we caught that fox. Anyway, my br…"

She was cut off as Mme Giry coughed suddenly.

Doctor Gaston immediately stopped working on Ann's hand and gave the woman a worried look.

"Mme Giry, how long have you had that cough?"

The woman blinked and blushed.

"I ah… swallowed wrong. It's nothing really." A faint giggle from Ann earned the girl a kick from underneath the table. "It's not my mother's illness."

She hesitated; unconsciously she had breached a subject that she wasn't very comfortable with and tried to avoid at all costs.

The doctor and seamstress gave her a sympathetic look.

"How is your mother?" Dr. Gaston asked gently. "I haven't heard from her in quite sometime." He started to finish with Ann's hand.  
Mme Giry made a dismissive gesture. "She's fine." She said. "She's still on her friend's estates, I got a letter from her the other day saying that she was getting tired of all the sunlight."  
The seamstress laughed.

"It's because she has spend almost her whole life in this musty, miserable opera house." She said. "You should watch out as well…"  
The smaller woman shook her head.

"I can assure you that I'm in perfect health." She said dryly. "Ah! Are we done?"

The doctor nodded and cut his final line. When the two women let go of her arm Ann immediately pulled it back and flexed her fingers.

"Easy now." Dr. Gaston scolded. "You don't want to pull those out – let me bandage it for you."

Ann's mouth twitched as she lightly ran her fingers over the cut. Reluctantly she gave up her hand again. The man raised an eyebrow in her direction and motioned to Mme Giry to pay attention.

"I'm going to give you this ointment with which to clean it at least three times a day." He said. "Also, make sure that she doesn't get the stitches wet. In ten or so days you can come to me to take it out or you can do it yourself."

Showing the bottle to Meg he opened it and spread some ointment over Ann's hand. The girl turned her head interested and sniffed the air.

"Hey, can I see too?" She asked. "I'm the one who's going to put it on after all." She held her free hand out expectantly. The seamstress looked as if she wanted to protest but Mme Giry motioned her to silence, unscrewed the bottle and passed it on to Ann.

The girl ran her hand over its shape and surface before she flipped off the top. Smelling the salve she pulled a face and reached in to feel its texture. She rubbed a little between her fingers and touched it to her tongue. She grimaced immediately and shook her head disgusted. She put the top back on and pushed it in Meg's direction.

"Do you think they found another cane for me yet?" She queried hopefully as the doctor tied the last knot on her hand's bandage.  
Ann pulled it back and ran her hand over the material as she kept hopeful eyes in her aunt's direction.

The Ballet Mistress sighed and shook her head. "No." She translated the motion. "Ann, I told you that I'll go look when we're done here okay? You'll have to wait love."

Although the rest didn't see it Meg noticed the soft frustrated sigh that Ann blew out under her breath as she rubbed her free hand over her face. There was still a streak of blood on her cheek where she had done it with her.

The older woman shook her head. She was still furious with the girl but she was sensitive enough to her moods to realize that she was, despite her brave front, still terrified. She was out of her element and now, she didn't even have her cane. She shared a look with the two other people in the room and went over to touch Ann's shoulder.

"Let's go get you cleaned up." She said gently. "And then we'll see what we can do for a cane…"

Blind.

She was blind.

_They_ let a blind chorus girl into the opera.

And then _they_ allowed her to walk around on her own.

The torches flickered as the shape paced up and down amongst the swirling shadows. One torch flickered out but it flared up again as the shape passed by. Every now and again there was a flash of white amidst the darkness.

The phantom shape turned around and marched over to a table that stood against one of the walls, one of the few pieces of furniture in the cavernous room. He reached down and ran a gloved hand over the object on it. When his hand reached the middle a quick movement snapped the object in half. He held the two pieces of worked reed up to the light and tested their weight and flexibility.

Effective, but not perfect.

He could…

With a cry of sudden rage he threw the two objects across the room.

_Stop it!_ Not his problem…

He stared at the place where the broken reeds had fallen.

_She had not flinched at his touch – she had almost seemed to welcome it…_

For the first time the light of the torches created more than just shadows.

The white bone mask glowed yellow in the darkness.

* * *

_AN: A question was launched by Eowyn about Ann mentioning a lamp. (Alys smiles slightly) Ann has a great sense of humor when it comes to her… Disadvantage as other people might see it. That is also why she laughs at her own silliness. Watch out for a lot of those sort of statements, she seems to like them._

_To the lucky bugger who has seen the movie! I'd almost say go watch it again for my sake. It only comes out in February in my country! (sniff-sniff!!)_

_Take care!  
Alyss_


	3. 2 Ghosts of the Past

_AN: This is a long one, prepare yourselves!_

* * *

**Chapter 2: Ghosts of the Past. **

_An image of memory, a thought of the past._

He watched her sleep, her one hand over her head, the other resting on her chest. Her fingers twitched, her brow furrowed. The thoughts of a ghost from the past.

"_Christine…"_

Old rage flared up. Jealousy, anger… Loathing towards the fate that he didn't deserve. Emotions flashed behind the mask but as soon as it came it was gone.

He watched her sleep.

A stray piece of hair had strayed over her face.

Impassively he stared at it. He reached out and hesitated.

She stirred and opened her eyes. Blue orbs stared at him, seemingly glowing in the faint light. Her one hand twitched as she slowly raised it and felt before her in the dark.

He watched it with clinical detachment and slowly brought his hand closer to hers, keeping it just beyond her searching reach. When he turned his hand to the side hers followed in a twin mirror move. He twisted his head slightly, intrigued by the gesture. Slowly he waved his hand back – and watched the move being mimicked.

He studied her face again, searching her eyes for the lie she must've told him but they continued to stare past him, unseeing and unresponsive.

He realized, quite suddenly, that she was not entirely awake yet. He spread his fingers wide, started to reach forward to place his finger tips against hers but stopped.

_No._

He brought his other hand from his cape and placed the object on the floor. He turned to leave but stopped and turned back to study her. The girl's hand still stretched out in front of her, almost as if she was asking him to touch her.

Again rage and irritation flared up. _How dare this child come here?_

Who did she think she was?

"What makes you think that they will accept you?" He whispered softly, unbidden. "In their eyes you will be imperfect. They do not hold with that. They will never accept you."

She didn't respond, her sightless eyes continuing to stare beyond him. With a sigh, she slowly dropped her hand and turned towards him, fully asleep again in seconds.

The Phantom stared at her for a long time before he wrapped his cloak around him…

The knocking was insistent.

"Ann, breakfast is ready. Come to my room child so that we can get you ready."

The young woman muttered something unintelligible and turned around, pulling the covers over her head.

The adamant noise stopped as the door was flung open.

"_Julianne."_ Mme Giry's voice insisted as marched to the bed and shook the figure. "Come on, you're not one to sleep in. You can't miss this practice love."  
The befuddled form stirred as she surfaced.

"I thought I was home." She muttered. "What time…?"

She heard the sound of curtains being opened.

"Seven." Mme Giry said. "Practice begins at eight but you have to be there at seven thirty. I told you that last night."

Ann sat up and rubbed her brow.

"I… forgot." She muttered. "Aunt Meg, can you give me a moment please? I'll get dressed by myself."

She felt the other woman's smile.

"You're too independent." She said and gave her a light kiss on her head. "Five minutes."  
Her presence left the room.

Shaking her fuzzy head, Ann stretched until she felt several satisfying clicks. She slipped her feet off the edge of the bed and felt around for her cane. Brushing its smooth surface, she pushed it forward with her toes and listened whether anybody was in the room with her. Satisfied that she was alone she grinned and rolled it forward so that the handle pointed away from her. She sat up and placed her foot over it.

In a well practiced motion she quickly rolled her foot back, allowed the cane to roll onto her toes and kicked it up.  
She immediately felt that something was different. Ann gasped and tried to snatch it out of the air but she had mistimed completely. The cane hit her fingers and bounced away from her. Ann hissed under her breath as her palm started throbbing.

She took a hold of her wrist and blinked surprised when she felt a piece of cloth turned around it.

_She had completely forgotten…_

She rubbed over the place where the stitches should be and gave another start.

_She had broken her cane; they couldn't find another one for her last night…_

Dropping to her knees Ann started to feel around for the unknown object.

She heard footsteps coming to her door.

"Ann, what in heaven's name are you doing?" The ballet mistress asked.

Shaking, Ann's hand brushed over the smooth surface.

"Ah, I'm having trouble finding my wardrobe." She called back. "Don't come in though, I'll manage."

Mme Giry sighed. "Five more minutes then I'm dressing you." She said exasperated. The footsteps disappeared again.

Ann swallowed and sat back slowly, her heart beating so loudly she was sure _everybody_ could hear it. She ran her hand over the cane's unfamiliar surface. It was very smooth and well worked, not reed – she guessed - but wood or something with a similar surface. The tip was covered or made of a type of metal, smooth and clean at the bottom indicating it hadn't been used before. Her fingers danced across it to the top. It was also made of a slightly different material than the cane itself. Ann's face darkened with concentration as she explored it. The "handle" wasn't as long and curved as her previous cane. It was smaller, the curve just bend enough so that it could hook around her fingers. There were also grooves for a better grip and a piece of finely worked chain fitted just below the handle itself. Ann smiled slightly as she felt a small carving on the side. It took several minutes for her to finally figure out what it was.  
She sat back pleased.

"An angel…" She whispered.

The girl was beginning to try her patience.

Meg loved Julianne as much as she would have loved her own children but there were limits to her patience.

She pushed the door open.

"Ann for the last time…" She froze when she saw her ward hunched on the floor, still in her night gown. She looked up at the noise, her eyes wandering in the door's general direction. She was holding a cane in her lap.

Meg frowned, she distinctly remembered that they couldn't find one last night. If she had gone out…

"Where did you get that?" She asked and went closer to her.

Julianne looked towards the cane and stood up carefully.

"I… thought you put it in my room." She said. "When you came in to wake me that is… You didn't put it under my bed?"  
Whilst standing she tested its length, momentum and how sensitive she was to what it transmitted from the floor.  
Her eyes shone. "It's almost as if it lies in my hands!" She exclaimed. "It carries itself. It's perfect Aunt Meg!"

Meg was still staring at the attractive, and obviously expensive, cane.

"Can I see it?"

Julianne smiled and carefully crossed the distance between her and the other woman.

"Sure." She said and, after feeling where she was, placed Meg's hands over the piece. "I can't." She turned around and, keeping one hand in front of her, made her way to the wardrobe. The other hand trailed over the furniture she encountered.

Unlike the other girl's rooms, there were no pictures, ornaments or flowers standing around.

Meg didn't watch as the girl found the wardrobe and rather turned her attention on the smooth wood in her hands.

The middle wood was very dark, though not entirely black. When she turned it a bit the wood almost seemed to turn into the color of dark blood.

'_There was blood on his face, blood in his eyes…'_

She gave a start as a hand settled in the crook of her arm and the other explored her face.

"Aunt Meg what's wrong?" Julianne's tone was low and intense as she kept her hand on the older woman's cheek. "You've been quiet for a very long time. You feel strange."

Meg swallowed, trying to work some moisture to her mouth.

"I'm fine." She said lightly and took the girl's hand from her cheek. "Don't worry – you have your shirt round the wrong way."  
Julianne laughed an easy, musical sound.

"Liar." She said but consciously tugged at the collar. "Did you see the angel on the handle? It is an angel right?"

_An angel…_

Her heart leaped to her throat, but Meg was careful not to show any reaction with Julianne this close to her.

Trying to breathe normally, willing her frozen hands to work, Meg focused her attention on the handle of the cane. It was white, looking like porcelain but of a much stronger material.

Ivory? Bone?

Meg didn't know but when she saw that it was indeed an angel carved on the front she felt an unbidden fear bubble up inside her.

It was the same fear she had felt just before she found Julianne and the same fear she felt years ago in the managers' office, when two fools thought that they could play games with a ghost.

Her own voice echoed across time to her.

'_Christine must be protected!'_

_Julianne_ must be protected…

When the hand returned to her face Meg started back to reality. Looking up at the taller person's worried face she felt her heart rate slowly returning to normal. Her common sense kicked in and suddenly she felt almost foolish.

She was over reacting.

There were a hundred reasons how the cane could've gotten under the bed and it was utterly foolish of her to choose the least likely.

"We're going to be late again." She told the girl as she pulled herself together. "Can you do with out breakfast for now?"

The younger woman nodded and hesitantly took the cane back from her.

"Can I keep it?" She whispered softly.  
Meg bit her lip then nodded, her common sense might have taken over control but she was still uneasy.

"Ann, this cane looks very expensive." She said cautiously. "So, I'd rather suggest that we try to find the owner first."  
At the disappointment in the girl's face she had to add the last bit.

"But if we don't find the owner – then it is yours."

The ancient Chorus Master or Chief Répétiteur of the Opera Populaire gave the people in front of him a critical look.

"Mesdames and Messieurs please!" Monsieur Reyer made silencing motions in both the Men's and the Girl's chorus' direction. "Can we have some order? Order I say!"

Slowly the crescendo of voices filtered away.

M. Reyer glared at them over his glasses. "It seems you didn't practice hard enough last night" He said sternly. "If you have that much energy. Perhaps we should…"  
A general commotion started up in protest.  
The Chorus Master clapped his hands together, effectively silencing them.

"But I think that won't be necessary." He said with a small smile. "Get to your places everybody – we resume where we left off last night. _Faust_ starts in two weeks and…"

He paused as something touched his shoulder from behind.

"Ah, yes – of course." He said softly. "My apologies Mademoiselle. And, Mesdames and Messieurs I would like to introduce you all to our new chorus member. This is Ann Leroux she will be singing soprano in the Girls' chorus."

Again a general murmur rose up as Ann stepped out from behind M. Reyer and faced them. Her face shone with excitement, she had been given a general overall about what music they were practicing and the songs they were going to sing today.

The volume of the murmur increased as M. Reyer led her to her fellow chorus members.

"Is this the girl we were looking for yesterday?"

"I heard she's Mme. Giry's illegitimate daughter…"

"They say she's blind."  
M. Reyer glared at the speaker.

"It's my hope that young Mademoiselle _Leroux_ will add value to our productions." He said in a warning tone. "It's also my trust that you will treat her accordingly and make her feel welcome. Ann – you stand here, remember what I said this morning."  
The new chorus member nodded and smiled at the people she sensed around her. When a hand touched her shoulder she turned a warm look behind her.

"Enjoyed your sight-seeing tour yesterday?"

Ann blinked surprised; she hadn't expected that tone already.

"I got…"  
A hand touched her arm and drew her deeper into the circle. "Sophia, you hold your tongue." An older voice said sternly. "I'm Helena du'Fleur Ann, welcome here. You can stand with me."

The girl welcomed the presence with a smile.

"Thank you." She said softly as M. Reyer began to prepare them for the warm up.

Her heart beat excited – at last she felt as if she was really in the Paris Opera house.

Staff meetings were always held over lunch.

Meg sighed softly and pushed her vegetables around on her plate, barely listening to Monsieur Richard Firmen as he rambled off important announcements. He had become a reedy man, with wispy, graying hair that was starting to fall out in patches. Meg, along with everybody else, knew that managing the Opera's finances were a hard on him. Somehow, although they managed to stay afloat, money just weren't coming in as it use to. They had trouble procuring lead singers, maintenance was always behind and most the staff wasn't happy with their minimal salary.

None the less, somehow the show went on.  
There was always just enough for one more show, just enough for one last song.

Meg blinked when she realized that M. Firmin was done with his speech.

She sighed and realized that she had missed half of it.

No matter, she always just went forward on her own schedule anyway.

Meg looked up as someone slipped in next to her. She smiled at the old man and turned her attention back to her food.

"Not hungry?" M. Reyer asked gently.

His former pupil shook her head. "I'm just not in the mood today." She said. "How did today go? Where's Ann now?"  
The old chorus master smiled.

"Well – considering that she only really started today. She's currently with Mme. Du'Fleur. She's a very enthusiastic participant." He said. "And, she knows her operas so, that helps."

Meg frowned slightly, sensing more.

"But?" She queried worried.

M. Reyer smiled dryly.

"It's still going to take a lot of work to get her ready every time especially now for _Faust."_ He said. "She's quick learner but she has to hear it over and over again. And there's nothing we can really do to help her with that. And, she doesn't really have a voice fit for a chorus."  
Meg frowned.

"What do you mean?" She asked a bit defensive. "Ann has a _great_ voice, she's been singing since she was 6 and, her mother isn't a fool. She taught her well…"  
The Chorus Master laughed and held up his hands.

"That's part of my problem." He said with a smile. "Megan, her voice is too _strong_ for the chorus. She could be a Prima Donna – she has an _amazing_ range. With some further training…" A vague light entered his eyes. "She rather reminds me of another girl we had had here…"  
Meg sat up immediately and shook her head. "Don't compare them." She said sharply. "This place destroyed Christine; I don't want the same to happen to Ann. They are not the same. And, you know as well as I do that Ann would never have a leading role. Somehow, I suddenly feel as if she shouldn't even be _here_."

M. Reyer frowned sensing the Ballet Mistress's dark thoughts.

"I'm not saying that I can't make her into a chorus girl." He said. "I can use her Mme Giry. And, I'm willing to put in that time. Are you alright? You seem very distracted."

The petite woman sighed and nodded. "I'm fine." She said and stood up. "I just… Have to check on something. Can you ask M. Firmin to announce that I won't be taking the girls this afternoon? Get Annette to do it, she has taken them through their paces before. And, without making a fuss, could you just ask everyone to keep an eye on Ann. I don't want yesterday's endeavor to repeat itself. Oh yes, and find out whether anybody lost a cane…"

She went straight to her room and dug around in one of her old trunks.  
Mme Megan Giry took out an old overall and studied it. If there was something she had learned from life it was you could always use a pair of men's clothes and shoes.

She got dressed in it quickly and wrapped a dark cloak around her. Unintentionally she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

Meg shuddered…

_'He had Christine! He was going to hurt her… He had Christine, she had to do something.'_

_The elfin girl kept repeating these words over and over in her head as she rushed down the secret, dark passageway. Her hand shook as she held it blindly before her, her own words echoing through her head. _

"Keep your hand at level with your eyes…"

The passageway had seemed a lot shorter the last time she went down it.

Trying to keep the cloak tightly wrapped around her Meg held the torch up high, trying to illumine as much of the shadows around her. Above her she could feel the Opera house pressing down on her but she swallowed away the feeling and carried on.

When she reached the lake Meg took a moment to look around her, something she didn't take the time for the last time she was here. She found the idea of this underwater chasm quite disturbing. As before, there was no boat or vessel waiting for her. Going round the side Meg prayed that the water level hadn't raised.

She wasn't a very good swimmer.

'_There was nobody in the cavern.' _

_Still soaked from where she had fallen into the water Meg crawled through the space under the portcullis. There were candles everywhere and a noose lay discarded on the floor. _

'Christine…'

_In the candle light she could make out various objects standing around but she paid them no mind. The sound of the advancing mob was growing closer._

'Track down this murder, he must be found. Track down…'

_Just a short distance from her a throne like chair towered up towards the roof of the cavern. Meg's heart caught in her throat as she saw the silhouette of a figure on it. She walked over, hesitated… and pulled the cloak away from the chair._

_The hollow eye of the mask stared back at her, mockingly._

She had always wanted to meet the ghost Meg realized as she stood at the mouth of the cavernous room. Unlike the others, who could still dismiss him as a myth she _knew_ that he existed. They had, after all, lived in the Opera house together. One developed a sense for these things. She could feel him, always watching them – measuring them, calculating…

None of that remained now.

She swallowed and went closer to the wall to get another torch, it took sometime to get one that wasn't too badly burned or broken.

When she had lit about four of them she allowed herself to look around the cavern for the first time. The room was just as she remembered it from twenty years past.

Burned, destroyed and empty…

_The mob swept towards the cavern like an angry tidal wave. _

_Little Meg grabbed the cloak and mask and fled from the anger and hate she felt pulsing through the room. She searched for another exit, scared that if she ran into the frenzied group of men they wouldn't be able to distinguish friend from foe. There was no other passageway, not crevice or crack where she could squeeze herself into. Breathing heavily Meg looked around her, terrified. Something towered up before her and before she knew what she was doing she ran towards it, swept the cloak over the candles to blow them out and allow the flowing material to turn around her as she hunched down at the foot of the mini organ. Shaking she clung to the mask as the first lights appeared… _

The dark cloak trailed patterns in the dust.

Meg clutched it around her as she wandered around the room touching this, avoiding that… Broken glass and lumpy burned out wax blobs moved and broke underneath her sturdy boots. It was quite clear that no one had been down here in years. Still…

She had to make _sure_.

Meg took a deep breath, retook one of the torches.

She turned to the mini organ and slowly walked over to it. Somehow, someway it alone had managed to escape the carnage of the precious items. She reached out to touch it but rather drew back and studied the apparatus.

About twenty years worth of dust and cobwebs decorated it.

Blissful relief and perhaps a touch of regret flowed through her as she stared at the untouched instrument.

Nobody had played on it for years, _he_ wasn't here.

She sighed and looked around the room one last time, remembering the frenzy and vehemence with which the people had destroyed the items to release their frustration at not finding their quarry.

Feeling an indescribable, overwhelming sadness Meg Giry turned back the way she came – keeping the cloak tightly wrapped around her.

Behind her, masked by the light of the torches – something stirred.

"_Meg Giry,_ what are you doing here?"

_The sobbing girl looked up through a haze of tears. A figure toward over her, framed by a golden halo of flames. _

_She had never known her mother to be frightened woman. She was formidable, able to make hordes of excitable ballet girls jump and listen to her every command. In an age where it was one step short of scandalous to raise a kid, mother alone she took to the task with pride and persistence. _

_Yet now, facing her only child huddled in a black cape and clutching a bone white mask, she looked petrified._

"Where did you get that? Meg, why are you here? Do you know what they'll do if they find you with _that_."

_Meg looked around her, the flames reflected in her large orbs. _

"Christine isn't here."_ She sobbed. _"Mother, he's gone as well! He has taken her…"  
_Antoinette Giry shook her head. _

"She's safe."_ She said quickly. _"Raoul has brought her back to us. Meg…"  
_The girl, a young woman but with the heart of a child, started sobbing as she hugged the mask tighter to her chest. The mini organ toward above her. _

"Then why are they doing this mother?"_ She asked. "Why_ are they doing this?"

_The last was almost a shout. _

_Mme Giry closed her eyes and shook her head as she sank down next to her girl and wrapped the tearful child up in an embrace like only a mother can give. _

_She didn't answer her for a very long time as mother and daughter bore witness to the destruction of one man's life and legacy. Papers, manuscripts and books were burned, carpets rolled up and taken away – priceless relics shattered. _

_The Giry's watched this all, like ghosts beneath the magnificent instrument. _

_When all was done, and they were alone and forgotten amid the rubble, Antoinette Giry stirred. _

"Because there is more than one kind ofmonster in this world my dear little Meg."_ She whispered and held her daughter close._

"Remember that."

* * *

_AN: This chapter is subject to change at some point. I wasn't entirely happy with some of the dialogue and some scenes just didn't… Flow as I wanted them to. None the less, the changes won't be significant and I'll inform you when I do change them. _

_I actually wasn't aware that there were other "blind" stories in this section – as I don't really read PoO fanfiction (no time!!!). Arrogantly (this will teach me) I had thought that this idea was a first. I can assure you its original though I didn't steal anybody's ideas – Ann jumped at me after I had been lucky enough to see the show a few months ago (sighs dreamily – amazing…). Before that I just loved the music. :) Either way – thanks for all the reviews once again! If you have any problems with the fic just say so – I'm open to up building critics. (Up building mind you.) _

_Take care once again! I hope you're enjoying it so far! _

_Alyss. _

_-;-- _


	4. 3 The Watcher

**Chapter 3: The Watcher.**

Two days later she was horribly sick.

Julianne softly sobbed into Meg's lap as the woman soothed her.

"It's unfair!" She exclaimed through a coughing fit. "Aunt Meg, it's so unfair."

The woman sighed and pushed the younger woman back.

"It's natural." She said plainly. "I expected as much after that little exploration tour you took of our basements. And you're in a new environment love, the Opera house isn't as healthy a place as back home. You haven't been outside since you came here. And what's more, you're not eating right. I told you to tell someone when you're hungry – you can't just stroll to the kitchen like the rest of us you know."  
The distraught youth hugged the woman's closer.

"You're not helping." She moaned from her skirts.

Meg laughed softly and moved her head from her lap.

"But I know what will." She said. "Rest, sleep and taking it slow for a few days." She took the wet cloth from the bowl next to the bed and rubbed it over Julianne's flushed face.

The girl pushed her hand away and tried to sit up.

"But what about practice?" She insisted. "Aunt Meg, what about Faust? I have to _listen_…"

The woman took her hand and squeezed it.

"Enough." She insisted. "Julianne, you will stay in bed until that throat clears and your fever breaks. After that I'll talk to M. Reyer. _There will be other Operas._"

She kissed the girl's forehead and stood up.

"I'll see you in a few hours and the doctor said that he'll stop by as well or send someone to check on you. Get some rest child. I've put some water for you close to the edge of the cabinet."

Julianne didn't say anything as she left the room.

Upset she turned away from the door and pressed her hand against the cold wall.

"But I want to sing in this one…" She whispered and closed her eyes.

&&&

She wasn't with the rest of the chorus

It wasn't that he specifically looked, but he had _noticed_.

A strange satisfaction settled around him.  
_He_ had been right off course, she probably couldn't handle it.

He had heard what they said of her and, as with all of the things that came from the _human race_ it had not been pleasant. They were unforgiving, and impatient with people who were not like them. What's more, she was one of them. She was not a strange… Phantom that dwelled in the corner of their minds and fear.

No, she was young, beautiful… But yet, not perfect.

He took a strange satisfaction from the thought that they rejected one of their own.

Wandering aimlessly through the dark hidden passages, with no real destination in mind, he mused over Ann Leroux. As a spectator, he had to give her credit for her initial enthusiasm, if not her endurance. It had been presumptuous of her to even try to come here. Yet, if the stories were to be believed, she might not have had a choice.  
Another Giry?

He doubted it.

Paying attention for the first time, he noticed that a stroke of fate had brought him back to the part of the Opera that he had visited only days ago.

There had been, up until now, little need to go through the living quarters.

His visit to young Ann's room had been the first time he had been there in months.

Walking slower this time he deliberately avoided one passage and rather chose another route. There had been a time that this passage had been as well traveled as the one he avoided. It was a shorter route to get to some of the practice halls and, with the girl out of the room he could once again use it freely without fear of hindrance.

Navigating with an almost imposing confidence he wove his way through the dark passageways and stopped at a blank wall.

Practiced fingers found the old shift-in-brick and pretty soon a bar of dim light appeared in the wall. He pushed it open and went through.

There was a gasp and heavy breathing.

He turned around surprised and stared at the figure in the bed.

Young Ann Leroux shook with effort as she tried to stay upright, her face pale.

"Who's there?" She asked, her throat sounding dry and sore. "Aunt Meg… Somebody…"

She leaned forward and coughed.

He stayed very still, watching her.

The girl rubbed her forehead when she settled and run her hand down her face in a strange gesture he had seen before.

She looked around the room, trying to blindly pinpoint the presence that she sensed. When she heard nothing further she closed her eyes tightly and touched her temples gingerly.

He shifted and turned his head slightly to the side as he noticed a flimsy bandage wrapped around her right hand.

The movement immediately made her snap her head up again.

"I know your there." She managed. "I'm not deaf – who are you? Dr. Gaston?"

The bandage was bothering him. It was horribly done and about to fall off. He tried to remember whether she had had one on her hand when he saw her in the tunnels. He hadn't been close enough since then to notice. His memory came up empty, but he did remember finding fresh blood on his clothes.

_She had kept her right hand on his wrist…_

He turned to leave.

"Who _are_ you?"

She coughed and sniffed in an attempt to clear her stuffy nose. There was a shift from the bed and a creak from the cabinet. A glass shattered to the floor.

The young Ann cursed fluently in German.

An educated girl.

He did not smile, but there was a touch of amusement behind the mask.

Watching her try to determine where the glass had fallen he realized that he felt a strange power watching her. It was quite clear that she sensed him, or that she was aware of his presence but, she did not know where he was.

He could do _anything_.

The feeling was strange.

"You better not be watching me." Ann muttered to his phantom presence, she felt around for her cane but it was standing by the door.

"I'll scream."

She started to slip her feet from the bed, right above the broken glass shards.

He reacted without thinking.

"You should stay in bed."  
Ann gasped and stuffed her fist in her mouth.

"Why didn't you _answer_ me?" She demanded breathlessly as she quickly tucked her legs back up. "Were you standing…" She started coughing again.

He glanced behind him where the next passageway was.

"…there watching me?" She was determined to finish her sentence.

He turned back to look at her.  
She was paler, her cheeks flushed with fever. The bandage was dangling around her wrist.

He sighed and reached the bed in two quick strides.

"I was out for a moment."  
She frowned in his direction.

"I could've sworn you were in the room the whole time." She said puzzled.

She trusted her senses.   
He picked up the glass shards and placed them on the far end of the cabinet.

"You're ears are blocked because of the cold, lie back."  
She didn't comply immediately and twisted her head slightly.

"I still wanted to tell her to move it back." She whispered embarrass and sighed.

He didn't appreciate the delay.

"Lie back."

The finality in his tone made her winch.  
She nodded and gingerly rested her head back on the pillow. Again a stray piece of hair moved over her eyes as she looked past him.  
She frowned.

"Have we met before?" She asked out of the blue as he sat down.  
He chose to ignore the question and studied the medicine on the cabinet.

Hesitating, he took the gloves from his hands and placed them on the cabinet.

Ann sat up again and before he completely realized what was happening she reached for his face. His reaction was immediate.

The girl gasped and squeezed her eyes shut.

"We have not met before." He told her coldly. "I'm here to check up on you, do not bother me. It is rude to invade people's personal spaces without permission."

She took a quick breath and bit her tongue.

"_Oui Monsieur."_ She said quickly. "Pardon!"

They sat very still for a few moments until his grip on her wrist relaxed.

He closed his eyes and sighed.

"Put your head back again." His tones were softer this time, gentler.

Ann nodded and gingerly shifted back again. She coughed softly.

He watched her, feeling a moment's regret but he pushed it away and rather reached out to briefly touch her forehead.

She was very warm.

"Has Dr. Gaston given you anything for blood poisoning yet?" He queried impassively.  
Ann shrugged and touched her dry lips with the tip of her tongue.

"He gave Aunt Meg so many things to throw down my throat… Probably." She paused and smiled. "I'm surprised you didn't find me on the ceiling – it felt as if I was there."

He ignored the humorous comment and turned his attention to the hand he was still holding in his.

"This bandage is horribly done." He criticized.

Ann smiled again and rubbed her forehead with her free wrist.

"Don't criticize the composer's work in her presence." She muttered.

A touch of surprise.

"You did it yourself?" He queried.  
Ann gave him a small smile and nodded. "That's why it's not perfect." She said. "Last time I wasn't really watching what I was doing."

Again there was no smile behind the mask.

He found that the wound was clean and rather just redid the bandage.

Young Ann patiently waited for him to finish, her breathing was beginning to deepen as she relaxed in his company.

"Could you talk?" She asked at some point.

Although he didn't show any, she must've sensed his surprise.  
She smiled, a gesture that seemed to come so easily, and closed her eyes.

"The room's too quiet."

He frowned and finished with her hand.

"To talk, only for the act of talking is senseless." He told her as he stood up. "You should rest now, Dr. Gaston will come to see you soon."

He turned for the passageway.

Ann shifted and turned on her side; she seemed almost insulted by his words but didn't comment on it.

"Then, just stay here until I'm asleep." She asked. "It's very quiet when I'm alone."

There was no reply.

He was gone.

&&&

The young woman frowned and sat up. She hadn't heard the door opening.

She sniffed and touched her throbbing temple gingerly.

_She had not imagined it._

She knew that she sometimes imagined and sensed things that weren't there but, this silent man had not been one of them.

She sniffed and touched the bandage around her hand.

No, she had not imagined it.

Sighing softly, she reached out to the cabinet for a drink of water. Her fingers brushed an unfamiliar object.

She paused and picked it up.

It didn't take her long to figure out what it was. She smiled and brought the pair of gloves to her nose. She loved the smell of leather.

And this pair told her even more than that.  
The wearer wore expensive cologne, but touched a lot of dust and musty places. When she slipped in her hands she found that he was a big man with large hands…

She smiled, pleased with herself and strangely comforted.

Settling back she slipped her hands out and hugged the gloves to her chest…

&&&

Ann swallowed and carefully slipped her feet out of the bed. She paused and listened for sounds in the next room. Nothing or no one came to her attention.   
She brightened up and pulled a shawl over her shoulders.

It had been two days since she was confined to her room and she was on the verge of loosing it.

When she was younger she had heard people describe her as active, excitable and reckless. She wasn't known for her talent to sit still and, as she considered herself to be better she didn't see the need to.

Slowly she made her way to the door, stopped to listen again and opened it.

As far as she could tell, there was nobody in the room.

Ann took a few breaths to calm her nerves and reached for her new cane that Mme. Giry had placed next to the door. She wasn't sure why the woman was so uncomfortable with it but she refused to give it up. Somehow she knew that it had been given to her. It was too ideal to belong to anybody else.

Ann turned her head around the room and sighed.

"Where's that lamp now Ann?" She muttered to herself and carefully made her way to the main door. Feeling better orientated she slowly made her way to the left to Mme. Giry's room. She had been there once, but had not had the time to go there again. It didn't matter; she knew what she was searching for. Opening the door, she took one last moment to make sure that there was nobody around.

Satisfied, she slipped in and closed the door behind her.

&&&

The sound was terrible.   
He couldn't bear to listen, yet somehow he couldn't make himself leave.

Listening from behind the wall he seemed almost pained as the sounds from the room floated around him.

"Don't play it as you hear it." He whispered. "It's a Chorus not…"

The sounds stopped. There was a cough, a curse and then a frustrated sound of someone hitting the piano keys.

"Think Ann!" The hoarse voice muttered. "What did M. Reyer say?"

She couldn't possibly learn the Chorus sections by replaying the piano pieces to herself.

And she played it wrong!

Ann played the parts and notes she used whilst singing, not those on paper. What could she possibly hope to achieve by this? Could she even play properly?

He started pacing as the notes started up again. It went a little better this time as she hummed softly along with it.

Every mistake still cut through his soul.

He stopped at some point and looked at the wall.

He could go and help her, he realized. _Faust_ was a master piece, one of the few he had bothered to learn by heart. He could…

No.

The Music of the Night is no more.  
He will not go down that path again with one doomed to fail.

For, he knew that she would. It was only a matter of time.

And he planned to bear witness to it when she did…

&&&

_Gloire immortelle, _

_De nos aïeux, _

_Sois – nous fidèle _

_Mourons comme eux!  
_

Ann tried very hard to keep her breathing steady as she stood next to Mme du'Fleur. The mixed choir's voices rose up around her.

_Et sous ton aile, _

_Soldats vainqueurs, _

_Dirige nos pas, enflame nos coeurs! _

She couldn't sing yet, but had convinced both Mme Giry and M. Reyer that she was feeling well enough to stand in the choir again. Even if she hadn't become sick it was the only thing she could do for the time being. She didn't know all the parts yet…

_Vers nos foyers hâtons le pas! _

_On nous attend; la paix est faite! _

_Plus de soupirs! Ne tardons pas! _

_Notre pays nous tend les bras! _

She turned her attention from the song for a moment and shuddered.

_Somebody_ was watching her.

She shifted uncomfortably and rubbed the angel on her cane. She didn't know exactly how she knew but she felt that it wasn't someone from the choir. This gaze was to calculating, too critical. She bit her lip and closed her eyes. The gaze was all that yet, there was something else too. She felt as if this person was watching _over_ her… The emotions inside her felt like a two edged knife.

Watcher or Wraith…

_L'amour nous rit! L'amour nous fête! _

_Et plus d'un coeur frémit tot bas_

_Au souvenir de nos combats! _

_AN: Rough translation of the above piece – the parts in is what I didn't get or couldn't find the right words English words for: _

Undying glory

Of our ancestors,

Be faithfull? to us.

Let us die like them!

And under your wing,

conjuring soldiers,

something something let our hearts be set alight?!

Let us rush home.

They are waiting for us. The peace is locked or confirmed?.

No more something, let us not linger?.

Our fatherland reaches for us.

Love laughs at us. Love hosts us.

And more than one heart quiver softly

With the reminders of our battles.

_I'm not very good with French but I am good with a French dictionary… :P _

_This piece was taken from the Fourth act of Faust. (Faust was written by Charles Gounod in 1859). The basic story line is about a guy Faust, who sells his soul to Mefistofeles (the devil) for intervention, immortality and a girl (big surprise!). The story plot goes from there. If you want to know more, feel free to ask (email or review I don't mind). I'll see what I can do. _

_Revere to next chapter for some outstanding issues that came up. Again, do not review that AN chapter, rather this one._

_Take care everybody! _

_Alyssa. _


	5. 4 Punjab's Lasso

**Chapter 4: Punjab's Lasso. **

The voice of the choir faded into the background as the lights on the stage dimmed and the Opera came to an end.

Ann stood very still as she listened to the sea of applause around her. Excitement pulsed in her so strongly that she felt tears tickle behind her eyes.

"Well," Mme du'Fleur said next to her, "now that was something wasn't it?"

"It always is the last evening." Another voice behind her whispered as the curtain was dropped. "It's as if… Well, Magic is all I can say. It's sad to think that none of us will probably ever sing this again."

The choir began to move.

In the distance Ann could hear Monsieur Giles Andre thank the audience for their continuous support and invite them to the banquet prepared for staff and audience alike. It was a tradition to hold one at the end of each running.

"All the cast will the there." He said. "Please, feel free to talk to them."

Ann started to move down from her position.

"Well, I don't think it's _magic_ at all." Sophia's voice rose up above the rest of the commotion. "I'm so glad we can finally put this behind us. This has been a terrible Opera. I must say…"

Ann rolled her eyes as she felt the usual anonymous pair of hands help her down. She nodded in the person's direction and moved to the group.

"If you think it was so terrible Sophia." She replied. "Then why didn't you leave? Nobody's keeping you here."

The buzz of the choir died down a bit.

"Well," Sophia's voice was calculated, "I didn't say all of it was bad. The costumes were great. Oh Ann," she felt hands on her shoulders and a faint, faded smell of perfume that alerted her that Sophia was close, "I wish you could've seen it."

Ann wasn't fazes as she smiled.

"Oh, I wish I could." She said in the same, phony sincere voice. "At least I would've appreciated it more than you."

The hands left her shoulders.

"You little… You are nothing but a…"

Sophia cut off what she wanted to say.

Ann twisted her head to the side as another hand rested on her shoulder.

"I believe I saw you're father in the audience young Sophia." Mme du'Fleur's voice was brisk. "He must've been disappointed not to see you in the _corpse de'ballet_…"

"You old hag."

Sophia stormed off in the wake of Mme du'Fleur's soft chuckle.

Ann grinned and joined her.

"What's that all about?" She asked as she felt the older woman slip her hand into the crook of her arm and lead her in the general direction of the mass.

Mme du'Fleur chuckled softly. "Sophia originally came here with the intention of joining the ballet just a few months before you." She said, her tones amused. "But Mme Giry thought that she wasn't good enough. According to her if the Opera's standards were dropping as the people are claiming, she wasn't going to give them a reason to point finger at her."

Ann laughed softly to herself. "Must've been quite a shock to perfect little Sophia." She said then shook her head. "But no, Mme. We should not speak like this."

The older woman laughed.

"From the person who started all of this." Ann felt her arm squeezed warmly. "Ann, you should just be careful around her. Sophia's father is a minor patron of the Opera. Not big enough to frighten and intimidate your Aunt per say but… He might have a lot of influence up above. I'm not sure how much your Aunt can intimidate the managers but… Well, just be careful. You might not be worth the financial risk in some people's eyes."  
Ann blinked and frowned. Her light mood became a heavy heart.

"Don't let it upset you now child." Mme du'Fleur tried to assure her. "Let's go to the banquet. There's no telling that it might even happen…"

Ann shook her head and patted the woman's arm. "I know." She said and stepped back away from the flow of people. "It's not that. I just… I'll come around later okay? I know where it is."

She felt the skeptical look.

"Are you sure?" The woman asked. "I can stay with you…"

Ann shook her head determined.

"I've been wandering around here for long enough." She said. "I'll see you in a moment."

It was the politest dismissal she could think of.

Helena du'Fleur sighed softly and nodded.

"Don't stay away too long." She said softly. "You deserve this more than anybody else…"  
Ann didn't answer her, but she smiled and headed back to the stage.

&&&

There was something magical about an empty stage.

Ann stood very still at entrance as she listened to the Opera breath around her. In the two months that she had been here she had started to think of it as a living, breathing being.

The Opera was alive - and waiting for her.

She pushed the chain of her cane to the crook of her elbow and slowly walked forward. Her hands trailed over the curtains, causing the chains that weighed them down to jingle softly.

By now, there was nobody around. Everyone from the stage hands, to the salient patrons were being entertained in one of the halls.

She was alone.

Or, not alone…  
There was the sense. That feeling that has been shadowing her since she came here. Her Watcher, her Wraith – her Guardian Angel was out there – observing her.

Not watching _over_ her, she had realized but, watching her.

In the beginning she had thought that this presence was good. There was suddenly always somebody around to direct her in the right direction when she lost track of where she was. The plumber, the rat-catcher, the cook, the violinist… Every time she was made to believe that it was a different person, with a different voice and accent but always the touch was the same.  
Cold.  
When she came to this realization she set out one day to _test_ her theory.

Ann laughed softly as she remembered how she had faked a fall on the stairs to try and lure out her bystander. She had allowed her cane to roll down the stairs and fumbled around aimlessly and determinately for the better part of half an hour waiting for her escort. When she finally came to the realization that he _wasn't_ going to show she spent the better part of an _hour_ grudgingly searching for her cane which had rolled away further than she thought…

She got the distinct feeling that somebody was laughing at her.

Needless to say she didn't attempt to embark on such ventures again and dismissed any thoughts or plans as childish gestures.

The phantom presence continued to haunt her.

Ann pushed away her thoughts and took her cane up again.

Cautiously she made her way across the stage, mindful of the props and décor that came in the way of her cane. At some point she stopped, turned and slowly walked to the front of the stage. Reaching the barrier she took three steps back and listened top the expanse before her.

Ann very rarely wished that she could see.

_Being_ blind was… Normal. Being _treated_ as blind was interesting, at the best of times, and being mocked _because_ she was blind was a minor affair.

If she could survive two brothers at home then she could survive Sophia Carré.

That pompous girl was the last thing that bothered her.  
Ann sighed and rubbed over the angel on the handle of her cane.  
What she wished for, was for people to stop seeing her as being nothing but _blind._ What she wished for, with all her heart, was to be given the same chance as everybody else.

That was all.   
She sighed and carefully put her cane down.

She took a few more steps down and sang a low, test note. Listening to the sound naturally travel around her she took three measured steps to the left and closed her eyes.

"Act three. When Marguerite finds the small chest that Faust left her," She began to recite, "with the help of Mefistofeles off course, she opens it and is completely enchanted by the jewels. Wasting no time she puts them on, whilst singing…"

Ann opened her eyes, took a deep breath and started in a soft soprano voice:

"_Ah Je ris de me voir _

_si belle en ce miroir! …_

_Est-ce toi, Marguerite?" _

_Oh, I laugh when I see how beautiful I am in this mirror, is that you Marguerite? _

As her confidence grew she dropped her shoulders, strengthened her voice…

"_Ah! S'il était ici! _

_S'il me voyait ainsi!" _

_Oh, if only he was here! If only he could see me now! _

The Opera moved around her. Something was…

"_Dieu! C'est comme une main qui sur mon bras se pose!"  
Oh, like the hand that touches my arm. _

Wrong.

Iron shifted and screamed.

"MOVE!"  
The cry came from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Ann's world slowed down as she dived forward. Even before she hit the ground there was a loud thud behind her.

Ann rolled forward and pulled herself into a fetal position. Her breathing was like a storm wind in her ears.

"What happened?" She shouted above it. "What happened?"

There was no reply.

Ann bit her lip hard and slowly pushed herself up, her arms nearly buckled underneath her but she swallowed her fear and stood up.

"Hello? Somebody?"

Again there was no reply.  
Ann shook her head to rid herself of the noise and try to orientate herself.

She went down on her hands and knees and slowly did a sweep of the floor.

Her heart leaped with relief as her fingers brushed over the familiar surface of her cane.

"I'm never letting you go again." She whispered to it as she slipped the chain around her wrist. "Are you okay?" She called out. "Who had called? Please…"  
_Something_ had hit the ground.

Ann stood very still and hugged herself. _It couldn't be…_

Slowly, with her hand shaking so much she couldn't hold the cane properly, she moved forward towards where she had previously stood.

The cane's sweeps of the floor was erratic.

_Please don't let it be… _

The unfamiliar object made a soft, dull sound as her cane hit against it.

Ann swallowed and slowly traced her cane over it.  
_It was too small…_

Feeling faint with relief Ann sank down next to it and explored the unfamiliar item.

The identification was fairly easy.  
It was a sand bag.

Running her fingers through the spilled dust Ann frowned and looked up.

Things still didn't feel right.

She stood up and turned a 360 degree circle.

Unfamiliar sounds taunted her from above.

"Monsieur?" She called. "Monsieur, are you still up there?" There was no doubt in her mind that the speaker had been a man. "Monsieur?"  
A soft, strained grunt… A creak from an iron pulley…

"Think Ann think." The young woman reprimanded herself. "What is it? Come on… _What is it?_"

She closed her eyes.

_The strain of taunt rope… _

Blue orbs flew open as she gasped.

"Monsieur? Are you stuck? Have you fallen? The walkway, did it break?" She began to feel frustrated. "Are you even _conscious?"_

She waited for a reply as the ropes creaked and moved above her. Occasionally she heard a soft human strained grunt but the person refused to respond to her calls.

She moved across the stage, turned around and moved back.

"I'm going to get help." She said out of the blue. "Just… stay there…"

She turned in the direction that she came and moved toward the entrance of the stage in a brisk walk.

"No… Wait!"

Ann stopped and turned around.

"I do not… Need help."

The voice was stained.

It was him.

Ann went back to the stage.

"How high are you up?" She asked. "Are you alright Monsieur?"  
There was a quick sound of a rope shifting, Ann instinctively jumped to the one side as she heard another weight swing above her.

"I'm fine." The reply was short. "Go to your banquet, your _assistance_ is not needed."

Ann frowned and slowly walked back to the bag.

"I think it is." She said, straining her hearing to try and determine what was happening above her. She stayed silent for a while as she moved around on the stage, slowly turned around a few times and finally stopped right below him.

Keeping her head slightly twisted to the side she lifted up her cane and started poking in the air.

"You're stuck higher up." She said more to herself than to him. "Monsieur…"

"Don't go for help."  
Ann sniffed and snorted.

"Fine." She snapped and turned the other way.

"Then I'll do it myself…"

&&&

Watching her search for the ladder that was right in front of her was almost painful.

"Stay there!" He snapped and tried to pull himself up. "Foolish child, you will be of no help to me!"

He heard a soft snort from the bottom.

"If you tell me what's wrong I'll be the judge of that." She said. "I'm coming up to give you a hand."

It was just what he needed he realized, but he wasn't going to tell her that. Dangling between two walkways with his one arm painfully twisted into the ropes and the other the only thing keeping him from plummeting to the ground he had come to the early realization that he wasn't going to get very far if he tried to do this on his own.

But, he didn't want to expose himself to anybody else and she couldn't be of any use.

Somehow the phrase: "Being stuck between a rock and a hard place." Didn't come close to describing his position.

He turned his attention back to the girl as she let out a triumphant cry and started scaling the ladder.

He frowned.

"Be careful with that cane." He snapped as he realized that it was dangling from her arm. "It might trip you on the way up. Imprudent child!"

Ann Leroux paused for a moment to push it higher up to her shoulder. Her face was tense and determined as she resumed climbing.

"How far am I from a walkway closets to you?" She queried at some point and looked hopefully in his direction.

He chose to remain silent. He hoped that, if he didn't encourage her, she would stop this foolish venture.

Ann waited for his response for a while but gave up and muttered something he didn't hear and got a better grip on the bar. She maneuvered the cane from her shoulder and, when it was securely in her hand, swept it vertically behind her. When the cane hit the walkway a little bit above her, she shouldered the cane again and climbed up.

The cane came out again as she judged how far and how wide the strip was. With a touch of pure luck she had managed to get onto the right one.

Despite himself he found that he held his breath as she removed her one foot from the ladder, bite her tongue between her teeth and hop lightly over to the walkway. Her hand immediately grabbed the guard rail on the other side as her momentum carried her forward.

She stood still for a moment or two then turned around, her face flushed with excitement.

"I don't know what all the fuss is about." She said to the world in general and, with her one hand on the railing and the other keeping tabs of the open side with her cane she slowly walked towards him.   
Ropes and sand bags brushed her hair and face.

He couldn't take in any more.

"Child, stop now!" He commanded her. "Keep your hand at level with your eyes!"

She paused and frowned, uncomprehending.

"Keep your hand at level with your eyes." He said again. "There are a lot of loose ropes hanging around. If your neck snags on one of them…"

Ann paled for the first time and nodded. She removed her hand from the guard rail but hesitated, a desperate light in her eyes as she tightened her hand on her cane.

He understood her predicament immediately and sighed softly.  
He had not wanted to get involved or encourage her…

"Put your cane down or put it over your shoulder." He said his tone softer than before. "Keep your one hand on the railing, the other in front of you. I will tell you where to walk."

He expected her to hesitate, to turn around and say that it was too important a task to entrust a stranger with. He expected her to show fear.

Instead she tightened her mouth determined and nodded. The cane went to her shoulder, the hand before her eyes.

Blind faith.

She took two steps forward before a noose slipped around her arm. Ann stopped and let out a slow breath as she detangled herself from it.

He saw that it was rather loose. An idea formed.

Before she could walk away he told her to stop.

"See whether you can pull the rope loose." He told her as he judged the distance from the broken walkway to him. "If it's just hanging there without a sand bag in means it's unused. All I need to get up is somewhere else to hold on to. Can you get it?"

Ann frowned, uncertain for the first time. She looked up, squinted and closed her eyes. He wondered whether the reaction was instinctive. A small shake of her head told him that she didn't understand with what she was faced but, she swallowed, grabbed a hold of the rope with both hands and pulled. The rope came down smoothly but snagged before it came down. Ann frowned; looking almost offended, and jerked it harder.

He experienced a heart wrenching moment when he saw her balance buckle underneath her but she shifted her hip against the railing and jerked harder. The knot that had held the rope captive came loose and allowed the rest of the rope to drop down over her. He thought for a moment that she would panic with the unknown entity coiled around her but Ann only searched around for the dropped end, looped it over her shoulder and carried on. She didn't say anything until he bid her to stop.

Ann's face was concerned as she peered ahead of her and slowly sat down.

"How long can you still hold on?" She queried, took the end and slowly started rolling the rope into a bit more manageable coil.

"As long as it takes you to give me that rope." Was his only reply. "You'll have to listen to me very carefully. You will not be able to hold my weight so you will need to twist the end round the railing and keep free a long enough part for you to hold onto. Can you do that?"

Ann nodded, once again showing pure trust and no hesitance as she stood up.

"Just tell me where to fasten it…"

&&&

She tried, and failed, more than five times to throw him the rope.  
Ann frustrated and angry with herself than she had ever been in her life. She never minded when she couldn't do something for herself, she had steadily gotten use to the idea that some things were just a little bit further than she could grasp and, she learned to do without. But, standing there – openly failing a person that she had set out to help was heart shattering.

She rolled the rope back up.

"I'm going to try and get closer." She said determinedly. "You said you almost caught that one?"  
The voice was silent.

"I told you before, the walkway is dangerous ahead. I think it is time you leave."  
Ann shook her head vehemently.

"One more time." She snapped. "And, I'm moving closer."

"No!"

He had snapped that at her so many times that she didn't even pay his tone any mind.

"I'll try it once more from this distance then." She said and swallowed. "Please, just try one more time. I won't leave you here."  
Again, an earth shattering silence.

Ann tightened her hold on the loop and closed her eyes.

"Turn your body a little bit to the left. Just a little."

Ann nodded and readied the rope. "I'm going to throw it harder this time." She said. "On three…"

Ann kept her eyes closed and silenced everything inside of her. Knowing that he probably couldn't hold on any longer she found it realistic to presume that this was one of her last chances.

If not her last.  
He was very tired.  
She swallowed and, as she started her slow count down reached out with everything that she had. The Opera moved around her.

She let out a slow breath.

"Help me, help him." She whispered to the Opera around her. "Please. _Three…"_

She threw the rope and grabbed a hold of the other end in her other hand. There was a few heart beats of nothing then a cry of exertion.

Although she expected it, Ann did not anticipate the sudden amount of weight that pulled on the rope. The coils around the bar twisted tightly as her arms were jerked away from her.

"Hold it!" The command came just as she threw her weight back against the rope. She kept it tightly against her chest as she heard several dull thuds of more sandbags hitting the ground.

The weight no the rope was still too much.

"My grip is slipping!" Ann warned her companion as she strained to keep a secure grip on the coarse rope. "It's too heavy…"  
There was a little relief on the rope and seconds later two more thuds. Ann bit her lip and leaned against the rope, trying to twist the short piece around her arms.

She felt as if she sat there for an eternity when…

&&&

He guided her down from the ladder. Not quite touching her, but he kept his hands in such a position that, if she did slip he'd be able to catch her.

Ann was very pale as she dropped down the last few steps. With shaking hands she slipped the cane from her one shoulder and hugged her arms close to her chest.

He watched her in an awkward silence and turned to leave.

She reacted immediately.

"Please… Waite." She said quickly and managed to grab his wrist.

He jerked and stared at her hand before turning his gaze on her face. Ann opened her mouth to say something but cut herself short and slowly removed her hand from his.

"I… I'm sorry." She said. "I… use touch to… See people. Sorry if I act to quickly I…" She laughed suddenly. "I don't respect other people's space I'll admit that. Please, don't let it drive you away. I… Will try to refrain from contact."

He found himself starting at her as her eyes searched around for the face she will never see, bright hope shining from them.

"Here's an idea." She said suddenly. "Let's go to the banquet together. I'm sure they've only just started with the feast. They always have so many speeches to deliver… And the patrons to thank. These people take so long to get organized…"  
She trailed off and grinned embarrass, her eyes searching hard for the face she would never see. "I… talk too much as well Monsieur." She said honestly. "Please, I… hate it if people are silent in my company. I need their voices to tell me how they feel… What they think… You…" She bit her lip again and blushed. "Please, will you come to the banquet with me?"

He sighed and shook his head as he looked in the opposite direction of the hall where she wanted to go.

"I wasn't planning on going." He said softly. "But I will take you there."  
Ann's face fell, disappointed.

"That's… Not necessary." She said with a sigh. "I wasn't really into going either really. I didn't really want to go alone and I just thought that if…" She smiled and shook her head.  
He felt almost guilty at the disappointment in her tone.  
Almost.  
He sighed and glanced over his shoulder.

"I will take you to your apartments then." He said and placed a hand in the crook of her arm.  
Though subdued, she nodded her thanks.

&&&

The hand brushed over hers as he placed it on the wall.

"Do you know where you are now?" He asked her, his tone soft.

She allowed her feelings to trail over the smooth surface. Whether intentionally or unintentionally she took a step back towards him and glanced back over her shoulder. This close to her, he could smell her perfume as surely as she could probably smell his cologne.

"I know who you are." She said suddenly, her tone steady.  
He started back and stared at her.

She touched her bottom lip with her tongue and turned around so that she could face him.

"Or… I know who you are not Monsieur Erik." She said a little more assured. "I know that you are not the rat catcher, the physician, the plumber, the organist, the organ tuner, the secretary or any other members of the staff, including all of those you told me you were."

When he didn't reply she smiled.

"I knew it was you every time." She said. "I'm not stupid Monsieur Erik. I make a living out of identifying people from their voice and presence. You're voice may have changed every time but not your…" She trailed off and balled a fist to place over her heart. "I can feel you watching me. Always. Why?"

He didn't answer her, instead choosing to step away from her completely.

She began to look desperate as she turned her face from one side to the other, trying to pinpoint him.

"Don't disappear again Monsieur, please…"

It was too late.

&&&

Feeling upset and emotional Ann slowly turned around and slowly walked down the deserted corridors to her room.

How is it that, the moment she felt she gained some ground with this phantom presence she'd turn that around and drive him away.  
_Who was he really?_

She didn't know and she had a feeling she couldn't ask any one.

Finding their living apartments she unlocked the door and went inside. She stopped in the middle of the room and listened to the silence around her.   
Sometimes, her darkness was very lonely.

She went over to the piano, played a few rifts but found that she couldn't focus.

Restless she stood up, when to her bed and sank down on the bed.  
He was gone. She couldn't feel him even now.

Ann closed her eyes and rubbed the angel on her cane…

_She felt as if she sat there for an eternity when the weight of the rope finally disappeared. She experienced a few heart wrenching moments where she waited to hear the sickening thud on the stage floor but then she heard the heavy breathing next to her. A hand touched her in the small of her back. _

"_You can let go… I made it." _

_Nearly crying with relief she let the rope slip from her hands and placed them on her face. _

_They sat in silence for a very long time. The hand remained in her back. _

"_Thank… you. Thank you very much."  
The words sounded foreign and strange on his tongue, as if it had never been spoken before. _

_She looked up, futilely searching for the face she would never find. _

"_It's my pleasure." She said and swallowed down unwanted tears. "I'm Ann by the way." _

_The silence stretched. _

"_You can… call me Erik, young Ann. I will help you get down." _

_&&&_

_AN: Well, here I am again! I'm back! Read AN on next chapter. _


	6. 5 Letters

**Chapter 5: Letters. **

He was bored.

Pacing up and down he marveled at the dilemma of his situation.

He had never been… Bored before.

Restless, perhaps.

But never bored.

He wasn't entirely sure whether he liked the feeling.

He didn't _feel_ like doing _nothing._

Staring out over the rooftops of Paris he couldn't imagine why this didn't appeal to him today. He had done it for the better part of twenty years and had been quite content in doing so.

Why was today different?

Massaging his left shoulder and arm he leaned against one of the great angels on the roof, making sure that he stayed in the statue's shadow.

He listened to the city's sounds around him and reflected on how he had never had the reason to come here before _she_ left…

The thoughts faded as he sighed and frowned.

Even thoughts of _her_ couldn't keep his focus.

He wasn't even in the mood to brood.  
That was troubling.

He turned and slipped back into the passageway that had brought him here.

He wondered what Ann was doing…  
_No._ He commanded himself silently. _Do not go there._

He needed some distance from this strange apparition, this _child._ He found himself massaging his left wrist again. She had saved his life. She wouldn't have, had she known who he was but still. He felt…

Indebted.

Or, more than that. He felt…

Rather focus on being bored he decided. Don't give it a name.

Again he sighed.  
He was _really_ bored.

Back in his chamber he spend a considerable time pacing but the only thing it made him realize was how uncomfortable he was. He could still feel the side effects of last night's little venture.

Somebody should see to those walkways.

When he turned around again his eyes rested on the old desk in the corner.

He walked over to it and stared at the scattered blank papers.

Behind the mask, his lip twitched.

He shouldn't, he really shouldn't…

&&&

There was a letter on his desk.

M. André tapped the pencil he had been writing with against his desk as he glared at the world in general. His gaze tactfully ignored the envelope as he went back to his work.

Monsieur Giles André considered himself to be an old man.

He was nearing sixty and was quite willing to enjoy the rest of his life as a retired old man. Heaven knows, he was ready for some peace and quiet. His health wasn't as it should be and neither were his stress levels.

The truth was that, Monsieur Giles André had been ready for retirement for quite some time. Twenty years actually.

Only, he had one problem.  
The Opera.  
It seemed to be a hard thing to get rid of.

For twenty years he and his fellow staff had been trying to bring the shows back to the standards that it had been twenty years ago, whilst he and his fellow manager secretly tried to _get rid_ of the whole business.

He should get rid of that envelope.

"Is this a joke André?"

Richard Firmin entered his office unannounced and waved something under his nose.

"If it is, I don't find it very funny."

The reedy man was actually pale and shaking. Whether from anger or something else he couldn't tell. Like _his_ weight, the man's nerves weren't what it used to be either.

"Calm yourself Richard, what in heaven's name do you mean?"

The man moved again as he shook something in his hand.

"This André, this!"

He threw an envelope down on the desk in front of him.

M. André stared at it as if it was a letter from the tax collector.

"Oh, it seems you got one to." He tried to say it as light as he could.

Now there were twin envelopes on his desk.  
This day couldn't get any worse.

His statement took some of the wind out of his partner's sails.

"You didn't do this?" He queried and sat down. His eyes fell on the other envelope.

"What… What does yours say?"

M. André gave the thin man a startled look.

"Why, I haven't come round to opening it yet." He said. "Yours?"

"Still unopened."

"Ah."

There was a long, uneasy silence.

"Old Monsieur Lefèvre, he died five years ago didn't he?"

"Yes André."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes André."

"Hmm… well, fancy that."

"Indeed."

"Yes, indeed… We… should probably open them then. I mean, they can't come from _another_ source."

"Indeed no. And we must open them, they are harmless. You can go first André."

"Monsieur, I think not."

They glared at each other across the desk.

M. André dug in his pocket.

"Let's flip a coin…"

&&&

The paper was the same, the ink was the same and the handwriting was the same.

'_Dear André, _

_This is quite a pleasure; we have not done this in quite some time. _

_I must say, though my judgement obviously is missed you have managed to keep the Opera afloat for quite some time with meagre success. _

_May I suggest that, for the next Opera you are surely planning, you retire Signora Caroline Mascagni and rather come in contact with the well known Prima Donna Signora Shannon Romano. I heard that she is growing tired of the English and would like to spend some time here. A small fee would, of course, be needed but I'm sure you can sort something out with Monsieur Firmin. _

_Give my congratulations to Little Giry, for I fear that I won't be able to write to her in person. She seems to do her mother proud for the ballet was a pleasure to watch. _

_Faithfully yours, _

_O.G._

_P.T.O_

_How is your wife? I have not seen her here in some time.' _

The two men stared at the note for a long time before they turned to the other. Wordlessly M. Firmin opened his.

'_Dear Firmin, _

_May I remind you kind sir that my salary has still not been paid. By my record you now owe me a grand total of 5040000 francs, feel free to work this out for yourself though. As this fee is a large sum though and I know that you won't be able to pay me immediately I will, for the time being, be satisfied with the usage of Box 5. As the attendance to the evening shows are not as it use to be you do not need it. _

_I would also like to offer you my service. Maintenance has become one step short of pathetic and they can't possibly be keeping you up to date with what should be fixed.  
Be assured, I will inform you if they miss anything. _

_That walkway left a terrible mess. _

_Your obedient servant, _

_O.G' _

The silence between them stretched.

"Well." M. André stated after a while and looked at M. Firmin.

"Well." The reedy man breathed. "We… Seem to have a problem M. André."

The fatter man shook his head.

"Off course not M. Firmin. This is a joke, can you not see it?" He put the letter down dismissively. "Someone is having a jolly good laugh at our expense. The handwriting isn't even the same."

M. Firmin didn't look as convinced as he studied his letter.

"Can we be sure?" He queried. "What did you do to your letters M. André? Do you perhaps…"  
The man shook his head gruffly. "Good heavens man!" He exclaimed. "That was twenty years ago. This is now and this…" He held up his letter. "Does not come from the Opera Ghost. He is gone, vanished… Dead for all we know. No one has seen anything of that sort in years…"  
M. Firmin snorted and did a quick sum in his head.

"Though, some still _claim_ to." He said. "He is correct though, I do owe him round that amount of money."

The look Giles André gave him could've soured milk.

"We don't owe _him_ anything." He snapped. "Could we focus for a moment please? M. Firmin, this is a joke. Probably orchestrated by one of the older staff members or the Giry's. I heard that Antoinette is coming back. I wouldn't put this past her."

M. Firmin wasn't taking any of this to mind.

"To what purpose?" He queried. "I can not imagine her doing something like that."  
M. André snorted.

"Her daughter then." He said. "She is mentioned, she might be fishing for a raise now that she's semi taking care of that blind girl. Well. I can tell you now M. Firmin I do not… Where are you going?"  
The man turned around by the door.

"To my office." He said and pocketed the letter. "I do not remember throwing away my letters from _that_ time and probably have them filed away somewhere. Are you coming?"

&&&

The only thing they ended up finding was twenty years worth of dept strips and dust.

In both the managers' offices and the old office of Mme. Antionette Giry.

Having done the latter last the two old managers sank down on the uncarpeted cold floor, with out so much as a thought of courtesy, and looked at each other.

M. Firmin took his spectacles from his nose and cleaned them with the handkerchief he drew from his pocket.

"Hypothetically speaking…" He began slowly. "Say, this is _him_. Do we allow _him_ the usage of Box Five?"

M. André glared at him, a little out of breath.

"Hypothetically speaking…" He began slowly. "I would suggest that you go home and get some rest if you thought that _he_ was still around."

M. Firmin's eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he perched his glasses back on his nose.

"Hypothetically speaking I resent that remark."

He glared at his partner for a moment longer before he put his handkerchief away.

"Still hypothetically speaking though, can we afford to give him Box 5?"  
M. André was silent for a _very_ long time.

"Hypothetically speaking…" He began slowly. "Can we afford not to?"

They pondered on that thought for a moment.

M. André's face lit up as he slowly heaved himself to his feet.

"We should not ponder on a hypothetical situation Richard." He said lightly and walked over to help his friend up. "What we should ponder on is who…"  
The door opened.  
Both of them almost died of old age.

Meg Giry stepped into the room and stopped as she noticed them.  
Surprise she took a step back and clutched something to her chest.

"Messieurs, what are you doing here?"

The two started breathing again.

"Mademoiselle, we should ask you the same thing."

M. André was the first to respond as he wagged his finger at her. "This is a closed office."  
Meg Giry's eyes narrowed. "This is my _mother's_ office." She said blankly. "As you still haven't decided to give me my own I use it as I see fit. Anyway…" She stepped into the room and immediately went over to one of the drawers. "I need some rough paper."

They're attention picked up immediately.

"For what, may I ask young Meg?" M. Firmin asked carefully.  
The grown woman raised an eyebrow in his direction and opened another drawer.

"For the record Monsieur Firmin, I'm not as young anymore that I appreciate the title." Her voice was brisk and short. "And as for the rough paper, not that you care or that it's any of your business but I'm helping young Ann LeRoux write some letters to her family. Is that all right with you or do I need permission for that as well?"

She took out some yellowed papers and clutched them to her chest along with those she had already had in her hands as she regarded them with cold eyes.

Despite the fact that they had the power to sack her when ever they wanted Meg Giry didn't fear them in the least and they knew it.

M. André shifted and put on his best smile for her. They had quickly learned that words spoken in the same tone as she used on them only brought more problems.

"Mme. Giry I have told you this before." He began diplomatically. "You misunderstood us when we told you that you should ask before you dismissed ballet girls so easily. You of all people should know that talent sometimes comes from the most unexpected sources…"  
Her sniff spoke louder than words.

"Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me I have some letters to write."  
She turned around and walked to the door.

M. Firmin took a step forward.

"Have you sent any other letters recently Megan?"

She frowned at her full name and turned around to peer at him.

"No." She said simply. "Why do you ask?"  
M. André shared a look with his colleague and took a controlled step forward.

"We were just wondering." He said simply. "You've never had the urge to write to us and tell us how you feel about our management of this beautiful Opera house?"  
Her mouth thinned as she tried to puzzle out where they were going with this.

"That is what staff meetings are for." She said simply.

She received two questioning looks.

"Even in the past?" M. André queried. "Even perhaps as a joke? There had been a time when it happened quite often…"  
They weren't sure whether they imagined it but Meg Giry appeared to go a little paler, despite her light complexion.

"No." She said plainly. "Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me this time – Ann is waiting."  
She left without another word.

The two mangers stared after her.

"That wretched child is like her mother." M. André said out of the blue. "She holds too many secrets."

&&&

Julianne was sitting cross-legged on her bed, rolling the cane over her legs. Her brow was furrowed with concentration as she dictated.

"Rather start it with: 'Dear Mama and Pappa.' Aunt Meg." She was saying. "I don't think that they'd take very kindly to formality at this stage."

The older woman smiled and glanced at her heading.

"I told you they wouldn't." She said. "Should I scratch out the rest or are we just going to carry on?"  
The young woman frowned and took a moment to review the letter in her mind. She groaned and shook her head.

"No, leave it." She muttered. "Let's just carry on and get this over with." She cleared her throat. Her tones changed.

"'_Phillipe and I are having a roaring time as the English would say. My vocabulary has improved to such an extent that I can almost call myself a master of the language I think. Yesterday, Phillipe took me out and taught me how to drive a horse drawn cart! I held the reins the whole way, though I strongly suspect that they were tide to the middle pole instead of the steeds. I'd have to ask some of the grooms who saw us come in. Not that I'd mind, at least I got to sit in front. Tomorrow we will leave to go visit some of his cousin's in Scotland. He truly does have family all over the world! They didn't tell us of half of them when they came to visit us. _

_Do not worry for my safety. I'm in good health and really having a great time. Do not worry, I will be back before time I have not forgotten_.'" Her tone became troubled, but then her eyes softened and she smiled. "'_If it is any consolation – I strongly feel my Guardian Angel watching…_' Aunt Meg, am I going to fast?"

She had heard the woman stop and twisted her head to try and determine the cause.  
Meg Giry watched her in silence before she glanced at what she had written.

'_Guardian Angel…' _

A chill travelled down her smile as she frowned at young Julianne.

"What do you mean by Guardian Angel?" She queried lightly, careful not to put too much emotion into her tone.  
Julianne blushed and nodded. "I… believe I have one here Aunt Meg." She said softly. "Long ago my mom told us that we all have one. Somewhere."

The woman tried to keep the conversation light as she gripped the paper.

"Oh, even me?"

Julianne smiled and carefully stood up to lay a hand on her arm. It sometimes amazed Meg at how accurate she could be.

"Even you." She said. "When I was little I use to believe that it was me."  
The woman genuinely smiled at this as she remembered how Julianne had tried to follow her around when she was young.

"So that's why you tied a string to me that one time?"

Julianne giggled and, standing behind her, wrapped an arm around the woman.

"That was actually one of my brothers." She admitted. "They wanted to see how long we'd take to notice."

Meg laughed and patted her arm.

"And… What about you?" She queried carefully. "Who's your… Guardian Angel?"

Julianne blinked and shrugged.

"I don't know." She said honestly and returned to the bed. "I haven't seen him yet. Can we finish this? You said we can go out afterwards."

Meg sighed softly and nodded – her old unease returning like a spinning wheel in her stomach.

'_Christine, forgive me - it was a mistake to bring her here…'_

As much as she wanted to she couldn't write those words. Not yet.

"We can." She rather said and smoothed out the paper. "I take it I should also write another letter to this Phillipe reminding him to copy this right?"  
Julianne was rolling her cane over her legs again.

"For sure." She said. "Mom can see your script a mile away…"

* * *

_AN: Here we go at last, Chapter 5! It's shorter than some of the others but I can promise you, it was one of the harder ones I had to write. Thanks again for all the response, I'm really flattered. Hope I won't disappoint you all!  
Take care and I hope that you are all well,_

_Friendly Regards,_

_Alyss. -;--_


	7. 6 Beneath the Wings of Angels

**Chapter 6: Beneath the Wings of Angels… **

There was laughter coming down the hall.

She kept her one hand against the wall as she hurried down the passageway, her cane's slight whisking sound seemingly guiding her as she moved it in front of her.

"Sophia, Sophia wait!" She called quickly as she heard the laughter stop. "Amy, Celine…"

She felt them stop and turn around to look at her.

Ann slowed down and approached them a bit more cautiously until her cane touched one of their legs.

She smiled.

"I heard you're going into town."

Silence stretched around her.

"And?"

Sophia was always the one who answered her when she and her friends where together.

Ann swallowed, a bit out of breath.

"I was wondering whether I could go along." She said hopefully. "Mme. Giry is busy today and…"

Sometimes silence was the loudest sound of all.

Sophia Carré snorted softy and a faint giggle from the other girls made Ann suspect that something had passed between them that she didn't catch.

Or see.

She kept her face very passive and friendly.

"Please," she asked again, "I won't be a nuisance."

There was a definitive giggle from the rest of the group. A faint rustle of dress told her that someone had moved.

"You're always a nuisance blind girl." Sophia's voice was filled with scorn. "Why don't you go help the seamstress with our new choir dresses? I heard that she needs some help."

Ann bit her lip, she couldn't let them get to her, not today.

"Sophia, please." She said monotonously. "That's not funny. What did I do to you? I just want to be friends. I'm not that different, I just…"

The touch on her shoulder was almost painful.

"Ann Leroux, you are so naïve." Sophia's voice had a little bit more sting in it than usual. "And you are also very arrogant to assume that we will accept you, or anyone here for that matter. You don't see the looks they give you behind your back. You don't see how they whisper to each other when you walk past. Heck, you don't see at all. Now, you're sweet, I'll give you that but, don't expect anything else. Now, run along – go listen to the sweepers or something. And, don't bother to ask us whether you can come along again. You can't, because we don't want your company, and your responsibility. Do you understand?"

Ann bit her lip, unable to keep the frown from knotting up her brow.

The hand on her shoulder gave her a slight squeeze and disappeared.

She stood very still as the girls left, a surge of emotions flowing through her.

Anger, pain, shame… Disappointment so strong she almost wanted to scream.

She turned around and balled her fists, fighting the urge to cry. She couldn't do that… She couldn't allow herself to feel the pain.

So she settled on anger.

* * *

He watched the three girls leave her.

The leader, one he knew to the Sophia Carré – a minor lord in parliament's daughter – squeezed Ann's shoulder and turned around, leaving her standing in the middle of the room. Sophia Carré's blond, almost white bangs bobbed on her head as she marched down the corridor. He had noticed her when she came here. She had been a pretty girl. But now her face always pouted too much and her light green eyes were too sharp. And, as she left he once again took note of something he had noticed since the day she walked into the Opera. She had no rhythm, no grace…

And, no respect for the place and the people where she worked.  
_That would have to be seen to. _

He turned his attention back to Ann who was still standing very still. Her face contorted with emotions, so many at once he could barely register them all. When she turned around there was sharpness in her normally smooth movements. She stood still with her one fist balled and the other white on the handle of the cane.

Without warning she let out a frustrated shout and threw it across the hallway.

Ann bristled as she stared blindly in the direction it had fallen.

"Agh!" She snapped suddenly. "Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" She stomped her foot in the childlike gesture and slapped her head. "Ann you really…" She shook her head at herself and took a few steps. He watched her as she looked around and slowly went down on her hands and knees. He turned around and started walking.

"You'll never find it now Ann." She reprimanded herself. "You're such a fool. Such a bloody fool."

He heard her all the while he went down the passage way.

"Nobody will help you either you know that?" She was slowly working herself up. "What do we learn from this?"

He opened a door and stepped into the hallway.  
For the first time he had a feeling that Ann didn't even notice him. He raised an eyebrow and went over to where the cane was. He picked it up and walked over to her.

"If I didn't know any better I would've thought that you were aiming at me."  
Ann squeaked and sat back surprised.

He tapped the handle of her cane against her shoulder.

She blinked surprised and frowned.

"Don't you mock me as well." She snapped and snatched it from his hand. "Heaven knows I've had enough of it for a week."

She stood up and brushed imaginary dust from her dress.

He watched her movements.

"They'll never accept you, you know."

Ann sniffed and glared in his direction.

"I don't see you trying very hard either." She said gruffly. "Anyway, I don't want _acceptance_ I just want a chance. Damn it, that's all I ask."

She turned around and went in the direction that the girls had gone in.

A bit startled by her mood he couldn't stop himself from falling in next to her. He couldn't remember the last time anyone dared to use _that_ tone with him.

"Did they make you that angry?" He began carefully. "Or was it me?"

He didn't know why he added the last part.

Ann's mouth thinned as she half shook, half nodded her head.

She stopped when they came to a fork in the passageway and frowned. Looking this way and that, she finally sighed and leaned against the wall. The anger in her eyes was quickly fading.  
_Where would she go to now?_ He found himself wondering. For that matter, what did she do when the older women she hanged out with couldn't keep her company? She couldn't read, couldn't go to town…

He hadn't actually seen her all week or made an effort to seek her out. His arm still hurt…

He sighed softly.

"Should I take you somewhere?" He queried.  
Ann sighed and shrugged - a beaten expression on her face.

"Like where?" She asked exasperated. "There is no where that I can go."  
He had a moment's hesitation.

A quick glance either way showed him that there were still nobody around in the corridors.

A ghost of a smile flickered behind the mask.

Without a word he took her arm and led her towards the secret passageway from where he had come.

Despite her mood, and despite her apparent anger at him, Ann Leroux still followed him without question and with pure blind trust.

It felt strange.

* * *

"I have to apologize for my previous behaviour Monsieur Erik."

She could feel the wind on her face as her hand caressed the smooth stone. A distance and feeling of space she hasn't felt since she came here stretched around her.

"I wasn't being fair. I'm sorry."

She didn't get a reply, nor had she expected one. But, she knew that he was still there watching her. She smiled and turned so that her back could be against the stone.

"How high up are we?" She asked, changing her tone of voice. "It feels vast."

There was a shift of fabric a small distance from her.

"We're standing underneath one of the angels on the corners."

Ann smiled her thanks for the reply.

"It sounds as if you can see the whole city from here."

They sat in a neutral silence.

Ann sat very still as she allowed the light breeze to play with her hair. Feeling a pang of homesickness she smiled and stood up. She could feel his eyes on her as she put the cane in her hand that was closest to the edge and slowly started to explore the small space he had brought her to.

"You come here often?"

Silence.

"I don't think a lot of people come here."  
A moment's silence then…

"It's better than the cellars."  
Ann grinned.

"I'll second that." She said and turned around on one foot. Immediately she felt his presence move.

"Be careful!"

Frowning, Ann slowly placed down her other foot and realised that she had turned a bit too close to the edge. It didn't daunt her much.

"Sorry." She said cheerfully. "Don't worry, I've got good balance. You should know. Do you read when you're here?"

"Do you ever hold your tongue?"  
The reply was quick with a slight snap in it.

Ann frowned and hesitated with her own as she stepped away from the edge.

"Not really." She admitted as she felt a faint blush creep up her cheeks. "I told you this before. Silence to me is… what nothing is to you. If I can't hear or feel you then you don't exist. As I said before, I need people's voices to tell me what they think."

There was a slight change in the way she felt when he looked at her.  
Ann shook her head and walked back to the angel.

"Don't pity me Monsieur Erik." She said warmly. "I don't mind being the way I am. Anyway, _do_ you read when you're here?"

There was a slow let out of breath. Ann raised an eyebrow as she looked in her companion's direction. It was the closet thing to a laugh she had heard from him so far. She waited for a reply she felt would come.

And waited.  
Silence moved around her.

Ann began to feel uncomfortable as she wondered whether she should stay seated or look for her _Monsieur Erik. _

She started to rise.

"You're mocking me, aren't you?"

Silence.

"I'll throw you off this building if you do."

"You won't."  
The voice was right next to her.

"_Sheiss!"_

Ann yelped and fell back with her back against the angel.

Again, she heard that soft let out of breath. Not a laugh, but not a normal sigh either.

She sniffed and fought not to grin as she stood up.

"You are a cruel man." She said gruffly but a small smile played in the corner of her mouth.

"And you curse in German, why?"

As far as she could tell he had moved back to his old place.

She shook her head and pushed her hair back behind her ears.

"The woman who took care of me when my mother couldn't is German." She said. "Needless to say she… Couldn't keep her tongue either. I… miss them."

This time she could feel that she had made him uncomfortable.

"Sorry." She said without thinking.

A very long silence followed. She began to think that he really had left her when…

"It's only human."  
She didn't know what to make of the sentence.

* * *

"So, where were you today?"

He noticed that Meg Giry had slipped her hand into the crook of Ann's arm as she walked beside her. The young woman smiled and raised an eyebrow in the woman's direction.

"I don't really know honestly." She said with a grin.

The other woman smiled and shook her head. "Did you ask Sophia whether you can go with them…"

He left them then, assured that Ann was in the right hands.

_Ann…_

Strange, he mused to himself, how she suddenly had a name to him.

Truly a strange apparition.

This day had been pleasant, he decided as he followed the dark passageways.

Strange and definitively a far cry from his usual ventures to the roof.

He still couldn't remember what had originally driven him there, so far from his usual dark passages. Perhaps it had been because it had been the only place _she_ had thought that _she_ was safe from him. Perhaps it was because he feels _her_ strongest there, in that place where he could watch out over the buildings of Paris as he wished that he could watch over _her._ She had been so beautiful there, so content…

Yet so false, so ungrateful, so disillusioned…

Yes, the roof spoke to him about _her._

Did he still go there for that? It had been so long he couldn't remember exactly when he had allowed himself to _feel_ anything.

Blue eyes appeared before him, like the treacherous dagger from the Master's play.

What did he feel now? What had driven him to bring her to the roof?  
Ann Leroux was a far cry from Christine Daae.

There, he said it.

The two edged knife in his soul.

The name he could not make himself say for more than twenty years.

Strangely enough it had not brought as much pain as he had thought that it would. Longing, perhaps…

He wondered whether he should bring Ann to the roof again. It was dangerous, for him and her. He should take caution not to feel too much but he couldn't make himself feel any less.

One thing he knew for certain is that, despite her talent, he should not turn her into another Christine.

Thinking like that suddenly did bring pain.

Loneliness.

* * *

She was smiling again in that small, teasing manner.

"You're going to keep ending it just as things start getting interesting." Ann said as she turned her face to him. "Monsieur Erik, I'm going to repeat what I said three days ago. You are a cruel man."

He did not comment as he led her back to her room.

He did not touch her, nor did she walk to close to him, but he could feel the small change between them. He found it interesting that her eyes tended to follow him as he moved around.

A ghost of a smile behind the mask.  
A strange apparition in deed.

When they reached the spot he normally left her, Ann lingered back and hesitantly touched his arm.

"Monsieur, may I ask you a question?" She queried. "Or, a favour."

He turned to her and frowned.

Ann pulled her hand back and then turned her palm towards his face.

"I know that you…" She shook her head and started over. "Will you allow me to look at you please?" She queried.

Her fingers stopped mere breaths from his face but it didn't cross that final threshold.

He took a step back and looked at her.  
She stayed where she was, trying hard to hide her anticipation.  
He sighed and looked around to make sure that they won't be seen.

He brought his hand to his own face and hesitated before he took off the mask.

Moments passed before he gave it to her.

"This is all I am to you."

Ann frowned as she took the strange object and ran her fingers over it. At first both hands explored its curves and edges but then her one hand travelled to her own face as she felt the contours of her own countenance.

"A mask." She whispered finally, her expression momentarily radiating disappointment. It passed quickly though as she held it out for him.

He took it and quickly slipped it back over his face.

Time turned around them as she processed his revelation.

"I can live with that." She said finally and turned around. "Goodnight Monsieur."  
She did not give him time to say anything.

Not that he knew what to.

So he found himself moving to the shadows and watching her as she moved down the corridors in her own silent dance.

Her apparent acceptance brought forth strange feelings as he realised quite suddenly that he did not want to spend the rest of his life like a fading, faceless shadow beneath stone angels' wings.


	8. 7 Giry's Ghost

_AN: Bear with me, I'm trying to find a way so that my paragraphs would be more easily distinguishable. Sorry, I just checked the format of the previous chapters and all the page breaks I inserted are gone! _

**Chapter 7: Giry's Ghost. **

_The movement of the train and the soft, rhythmic sounds of the wheels on the track were making her drowsy.  
Mme Antoinette Giry snorted at herself and shook her head as the countryside flashed by.  
There was no use denying it, she was getting old. _

_Pretty soon she will spend her days in a rocking chair with her_ knitting _on her lap,_ _a nurse constantly by her side and her grandchildren…  
Another snort. _

_Not if she knew _her_ daughter… _

_She shook her head again and sat up a bit, ignoring the dull pain in her hip. With a detached admiration she forced herself to look at the Spanish countryside. Although it has been her home for several months now she couldn't help but feel relieved to return back to her dear Paris._

_The Opera house, the city and even the people there made her feel more welcome and content than this place ever could. _

The Opera house.

_Her gaze became distant as she rested her head back against the seat. In the distance she noticed a band of traveling wagons. A traveling gypsy show most probably. _

Gypsies…

* * *

"Come on little Meg, keep up!" She said with a smile as she watched her three year old daughter trail behind her, her wild blond curls standing in all directions at once. "We still have a lot to see!"

The little girl, already small for her age, looked up from where she had been studying something in the distance.

"Mama, there's another cage over there!" She exclaimed excited. "Let's go there! Please? I want to see what it is. Please? Really please?"

Her face was flushed with exhilaration.

The dark haired woman raised an eyebrow and followed her daughter's eager gesture. A small crowd had formed around a covered cage. A beefy man with a circus top hat and a red jacket was standing on a box before it, beckoning and calling to the crowds to come closer.

The canvas moved ever so slightly.

Antoinette felt shivers traveling down her spine.

"It's probably just another strange animal Megan." She said as she joined her daughter. "We can go round later."

The little girl shook her head stubbornly in a silent request to be picked up.

"Let's go now." She insisted. "It's going to be scary mama, like that lelephant. _Please…" _Begging eyes looked up at her.

Shaking her head with a wry smile Antoinette shifted their picnic basket to her one hand and allowed her daughter to climb onto her hip.

"That look's going to be the death of me." She teased and moved the basket for balance. "You're getting too heavy for this you know."

The girl giggled and wrapped her arms around her mother's neck as the woman carried her to the crowd.

The words from the announcer drifted to her.

"…so hideous that the first woman who saw the creature fainted out of pure horror." Antoinette Giry frowned and after some thought put Meg to the ground, who whined disappointed. Her mother looked down at her and shook her head. "In a moment love…" She said softly. "Let Mama just see what it is."

She kept a hand on her daughter's head as she listened to the man as he whipped the crowd up into an excited frenzy. Little Meg wanted to push through to the front but she kept a firm hand on her.

"So please Messieurs…" The man continued. "Stand behind your women less they should be faint of heart. If you wish, you should leave now for this is a devil from the next world…"

He didn't give people chance to leave as he turned around and pulled the canvas from the cage.  
The crowd gasped in anticipation… and hesitated. A nervous thrill traveled through the gathered people.

A boy, a little older than Meg who was sitting on his father's shoulders pointed.

"That's no monster! That's just a man!"

Meg pulled at her skirts to be picked up again but Antoinette had momentarily forgotten about her child as she stared appalled at the spectacle before her.  
It was indeed a man. A _young_ man.

He couldn't be more than sixteen years of age.

Skinny and dirty he looked nothing like a creature of darkness but rather like a pitiful spectacle that kept his right side tightly pressed against the side of the cage where there where the crowd wasn't gathered.

The cold blue eye that she could see stared lifelessly at the straw in front of him, seemingly oblivious to the world or even the flies or maggots in his filth invested wounds.

Unknowingly, Antoinette crossed herself and whispered a prayer for this pitiful human being. And almost… almost a curse for those who did this to him.

"Mama…" Meg's voice snapped her out of her stupor. Antoinette bent down on one knee and hugged her daughter. The little girl, still oblivious to what was happening in front, didn't understand the gesture but returned the hug lightly.  
Her mother smoothed her hair back and picked her up.

The announcer had turned around surprised and glared at the man. She saw him say something harsh but she didn't catch it.

"Come on Meg." She whispered softly. "Let's go love." She watched the announcer signal a man to bring him an object that looked like a riding crop.

"It's just a man Meg." She said and picked up her basket. "We don't want to see this."

She turned her back on the spectacle then as the first sounds of the crop hitting flesh drifted to her past the crowds excited cheers.

She had never felt more horrified at humanity.

There was an angry, almost animal like cry.

Unable to stop herself she turned around aghast. She had dropped the basket to use her free hand to cover her girl's face.

The caged man had in a fit of pain and rage got up and grabbed the crop from the man in the cage with him. Before he could hit him though two men were already in the cage restraining him.

He tried to fend them off as well but was quickly restrained and beaten again.

He shook his head and, with out warning cried out.

"I am not a monster!"  
The crowds laughed and jeered at him.

The people in the cage continued to beat him.

And all the while it became blatantly clear to Antoinette Giry that his deformed face was nothing compared to the twisted souls around him.

Tears stung behind her eyes and she knew that she had to turn away before she lost a part of herself in the frenzy. She turned but suddenly cold blue eyes locked with hers over the expanse between them.

The man looked at her, his lifeless eyes coldly boring into her soul.

They stood there, locked in each other's souls as time flowed past for the rest of the world.

"Mama…"  
Antoinette Giry tore herself away and hugged Meg to her as tightly as she could. Without thinking of picking up her basket she clutched her child to her chest and ran away from the monsters of the human race.

* * *

_She blinked and swallowed down the lump that had formed in her throat. She could still feel her daughter's frantic little heartbeat as the child picked up the fear her mother had felt…_

"You sleep now my dear heart." Antoinette Giry said as she lay down next to her girl. "Don't worry, don't think… Your father watches over you tonight."

The little girl yawned and moved closer to her mother as her eyes drifted close.

"Did pappa love me?" She queried softly and yawned again.

Antoinette smiled and kissed her forehead.

"Very much." She whispered as her eyes passed over an old picture by the bedside table. "As I do as well."  
Safe in her mother's arms it didn't take Meg long to fall asleep. The day's events had faded to all but a whisper of a shadow in her mind, but in her mother's heart they had become a heavy smothering cloak.

Watching the night's phantoms dance across the roof she tried to close her eyes and find sleep but two blue orbs kept appearing before her.

"_I am not a monster!"_

Antoinette sighed and moved away from her daughter.  
She was going to get no sleep tonight.

Careful not to disturb the sleeping child she got up and slowly left the room. She paced up and down her small apartment, stopping every now and again to stare out of the window at the lights of Paris.

It was very dark outside, poetically fitting her mood.

She shook her head and looked at her image in the mirror across the room. In its depths she saw the taunting reflection of the door.

Her mouth thinned before she turned away from herself and left the room.

After a few moments the door in the mirror opened and closed…

* * *

_She stared at her own eyes reflected in the glass of the train, the smell of blood, sickness and human filth still strong in her mind…_

* * *

The door opened and closed again.

He was breathing heavily. So heavy she was afraid that he might wake her daughter…

Fear pulsed through her soul but she knew that it was nothing to what she felt beating in his body.

_What was she thinking?_  
Coming here had taken a lot out of him. When she found him he had been unconscious, beaten so badly she thought that he would surely die right there in her arms.  
The fight for humanity had come at a high price for him it seemed.

Yet, thankfully, when she was able to rouse him finally he had been fairly compliant and it didn't take long to convince him to come with her. She had a feeling he had been too dazed to fight her insistence.

What _had_ taken precious time was bringing him here. Too scared to hail a cab in fear of a blabbing tongue Antoinette had found herself half carrying, half supporting the broken man through the streets of Paris. Despite his weak state and apparent youthful appearance he was still heavy and she was not a very strong woman. She nearly cried with relief when they finally reached the apartment.

She took him directly to the washroom.

"There is only cold water." She said as she gently eased him to the floor of the room. "My apologies Monsieur, I will boil some. These apartments are…"

She trailed off as her eyes unintentionally wandered to his disfigured face. He was sitting very still, his eyes staring unfocused at a spot just beyond her sight. She didn't like the sound of his chest.

"I will bring the hot water." She confirmed. "Then Monsieur, if you will let me I must see to your wounds. There are also some clothes from my husband, he was smaller than you I fear but it will have to do for now."  
_What was she doing?_

He moved then, as she left the room, tactfully pulling himself in such a position that she couldn't see his face.

"You're daughter?"

Again she felt fear shoot down her spine as she looked at this stranger.

She swallowed and looked to the floor.

"She is in my room. You can sleep in hers. She is still very young…" She trailed off and licked her lips. "Monsieur, I would… Ask that you try not to let her see you. Please."

He didn't say anything as he kept on staring at the ground. His one hand strayed to the end of the cloak which she gave to him and quietly pulled it over his face.

"I will try not to stay here long."

She felt an indescribably pity for him then, huddled there on the floor with nothing to his name but a legacy he didn't deserve and a face he didn't want.

She swallowed softly and knelt down next to him.

"You can stay here as long as you are no threat to my daughter Monsieur." She said gently and lightly touched his knee. "And, even after that I promise that I will take care of you. Just, know that my first thought is to keep _her_ safe. That is all I ask of you."

He looked at her then, his eyes hiding a depth unlike any she had ever seen.

"I will keep your daughter safe then." He said softly. "I promise."

* * *

_She reflected on those words long after she had spoken them. She had borne witness to a lot of promises over the years. Promises made, promises kept… And strangely enough the only one who had kept them sacred was the man who society had branded as a monster. _

_He had found his own way to the Opera's cellars. After almost being found in her apartment when the police did a door to door search he followed her as she went to work. There had been a riot in the city when the Gypsies found out that their demon was gone. They got the police involved and said that he was a murderer, a thief, a dangerous genius… Sitting there with past phantoms keeping her company Antoinette Giry realized that they were telling the truth. He was all that and more…_

* * *

"Concentrate girls!" She snapped as she tapped her cane in time with the music. "Brenda, let your arms work for you child. No Annelise you should be…"  
A movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention.

Mme Antoinette Giry's mouth thinned and she tapped her cane extra hard.

"Meg Giry you better get out from behind that curtain right now." The movement stopped. "You know you're not allowed to be here."  
The little girl - four now - slowly stepped out from behind the curtains and gave her mother a pleading look as she clasped her hands behind her back.

"Please Mama…" She begged with _that_ look. "Please Mamma can I watch?"

The woman shook her head as she put the cane down to clap her hands to keep rhythm for the girls.

"No." She said sharply. "You know where you should be. Now, run along or I'll come and have a _talk_ with you…"  
She glanced at her for emphasis.  
The young girl quickly caught her meaning and gave a small squeak. She put her hands behind her again and quickly trotted off stage.  
Antoinette could've sworn that she heard her mutter under her breath though. She smiled fondly and turned her attention back to her work.

_That_ little girl was going to become quite a twit.

The other one… She couldn't worry about that right now.

Losing herself in the music Antoinette could not help reflect back on the time when she had stared behind curtains, or listened to the rhythmic clap of the ballet mistress. It was always felt as if something…  
_Was wrong._  
She stopped what she was doing mid clap and whirled around.

"Meg!"

There was a scream from backstage.

She was running towards the source before she even took another breath.

"_Megan!"_

The terrified screams continued.  
Frantically she searched through the prop littered back floors, weaving through the back drops and décor. As she rounded the backdrop of a starry night she was just in time to see a dark shadow straighten up. Her daughter was just behind him, her eyes closed as she screamed in terror.  
Her heart froze.

"Get away from her!" She yelled. "Don't you touch her! What have you done!"  
He turned around to look at her, those eyes more emotionless than ever as he characteristically only exposed his left side to her.

Upon hearing her mother's voice Meg opened her eyes and ran towards the woman.

Antoinette still had her gaze on the man as she went down on one knee to scoop up her daughter. She had stopped screaming but was now sobbing uncontrollably.  
Antoinette held onto her as tight as she could. Behind her she could hear more footsteps coming her way. The rest of the people who had heard her daughter's cry didn't navigate through the maze of stage utilities as quickly as she had.

"Leave!" She yelled at the man. "Go! Leave here; if I see you again I swear on my husband's grave I will show them where you live…"

Fear sparked behind his blue fires but strangely enough, disappointment pulsed stronger…

Just before the rest of the crew appeared he drew his cloak around him and stepped into the shadows.

Antoinette closed her eyes and held onto her daughter.  
The girl's sobbing subsided a bit as she buried her face in her mother's neck.

"I'm so sorry mama." She whispered as M. Reyer joined them. He had been playing the piano for the ballet girls. "I'm so sorry. It was all my fault, I'm so sorry."

Her initial shock and fear were slowly flowing away from her.

"It's okay Meg." She soothed softly. "He won't hurt you I promise…"  
The little girl refused to listen and refused to be consoled.

"I'll never climb up there again, I promise." She was saying. "I promise…"  
Antoinette's heart missed a beat as she pushed her daughter away from her.

"Climb up?" She queried. "Megan?"  
The girl sniffed and rubbed her runny nose as she stared at her mother with huge, tear filled eyes.

"I climbed up to watch you." She gulped the words. "I'm sorry mama. I just wanted to watch you."  
Her heart was beating slower than usual. She didn't know whether it was possible.  
Antoinette Giry stared into the shadows.

"And that man?" She queried.

Meg started sobbing again. "I fell and he caught me. I'm sorry mama… I'm so sorry."

* * *

_She had made sure that the girl was sorry that evening. _

_She realized quite suddenly that that was the last time her daughter ever gave her reason to reprimand her. Like any child she pulled off minor offences but had never dared pull a stunt like that. Antoinette Giry debated whether she should stand up and stretch her leg or keep still for just a few moments longer. She stared at her full reflection in the window. There was still one more Act in this Opera of remembrance…_

* * *

She stared at herself in the full length mirror in her room at the Opera.

Her hands were shaking slightly as she tried to do her braid but somehow it kept coming out wrong. She undid it for the umpteenth time and started to brush it out again but her emotions became so strong she had to put down the brush and collect herself.  
_She had almost lost her daughter…_

The urge to cry overwhelmed her as she placed her hand over her mouth and closed her eyes to keep herself from screaming.

_She would never have forgiven herself. Never…_

Forgiveness.  
She had made a grave error. A fatal assumption that made her just as much a monster as those people at the fair on that day.

She opened her eyes and stared at herself in the mirror, disgusted with what she saw. She owed him now; she owed him a lot more than she could give…

She bit her lip and looked at the food she had brought to her room. She had had it done every evening since she came here. She didn't eat with the rest of the staff but chose to have her food brought to her room so that she could take it to him. She wondered whether he was still here.

He had nowhere else to go.

She swallowed and glanced at the mirror again.

Leaving her hair undone she stood up gracefully, picked up the tray and left the room. When she reached the empty store room she immediately knew that he was there.

It wasn't so much a sense just a strange brush in the air that made her feel as if she was straying into unknown territory. She had never been a superstitious woman but she felt very strongly that Opera house itself had welcomed this man and would go to great lengths to keep him safe.

She opened the door and slowly walked into the room, making sure she closed to the door behind him. The room was empty but she knew that this was just an illusion. She took a steadying breath, put the tray down on an old box and went down on her knees.

She sat like that until she heard him move.

She took a deep breath and kept her head down.

"Monsieur, please forgive me. I owe you my life."  
She was mildly proud of herself that her voice didn't shake as much as she thought it would. The phantom on the room didn't move or say a word.  
She refrained from biting her lip as she clasped her hands in front of her.

"Anything you ask of me." She carried on. "I'll give you _anything_ that you ask of me. I'm indebted…" Her voice did break then and she had to close her eyes to keep herself from crying. She had just given herself over to him. He could do with her as he wish…

She felt the movement before her and looked up.  
He was standing in front of her, those ageless eyes staring at her through the shadow that covered his one half. He looked more youthful now that he had had a few months of decent feeding but his eyes would always remain haunted.

Unspoken emotions flashed behind the mask of shadow and for a moment she saw all of those that she feared. He reached out to touch her face but hesitated.

She forced herself to keep her gaze on his face as they were frozen in that spot.

The emotions in his eyes died as he shook his head to himself and turned away from her.

"Just be my eyes and ears to the world outside this place." He said. His voice had changed as well; it was – despite the crack of youth – becoming richer, more confident. She never knew that darkness could be good for a man. "Serve me and keep your promise. I will always keep mine."

Tears did flow down her cheeks then as she nodded and stood up.

"I promise." She said. "I commit myself and, when she is old enough to understand, my daughter to you as well. I promise that we will always keep watch over you, as you did over her."  
He nodded and picked up the tray.

Before she left the room though he turned back ever so slightly.

"That girl you brought here a few days ago," he began slowly, "the one who cries in the chapel. What is her name?"

Mme Antoinette Giry frowned slightly and sighed.

"Her name is Christine Daae…"


	9. 8 One Touch

**Chapter 8: One Touch. **

She missed her family.

It felt… Strange.

She had never been away from home this long.

She sniffed and cleared her throat to try and get rid of the tightness she felt but the strange longing for something familiar remained.

She sighed and brushed a hand over her face.

She felt restless.

For a moment she almost missed being Juli…

"You're not paying attention."  
The statement jerked Ann out of her thoughts as she blushed and pushed some stray pieces of hair out of her face.

"I am…" She began but hesitated. "I just…" She sighed and shook her head. "I'm sorry, I'm just a bit distracted."  
She heard the sound of a book being carefully closed and put away.

"Is… something wrong?"  
She felt a touch of fondness at the hesitance in his tone. Her Monsieur Erik always tried so hard to pretend that he wasn't really interested in her life but…

She smiled at him and shook her head.

"I'm just missing my family."

She felt him draw back. He always did when she mentioned the word.

He was awkward.

"It's… natural." He said blankly. "You're only human."

Ann twisted her head to the side and smiled at him teasingly. "I thought you were going to say 'only a child.'" She sniffed slightly. "You said something like that before mind, why…" She paused, the sentence didn't feel right. "Why do you associate longing with being human? I mean, everybody's human as are their emotions…"

She trailed off when she realized the topic was going nowhere.

A mildly uncomfortable silence followed.

Ann looked out in the direction of the city.

"Should I carry on reading?"

The young woman sighed again and shook her head.

"I'm not really in a listening mood today." She said embarrassed. "Sorry, Gulliver is just a bit… Beyond me today. Sorry if I wasted your time…"

There was no reply.  
Ann bit her lip awkward then sat up suddenly.

"Hey! I've got an idea." She exclaimed enthusiastically. "There's this little café next to the Opera, why don't we go there? My treat…"

She knew he would say no before she felt him shake his head.

"Not today."

Today, things just didn't flow between them as it did for the past two weeks.

Ann sniffed determinedly and stood up.

She put her cane in the hand that was closest to the edge and started walking idly in the small space. She had a feeling that it was her restlessness that was causing them to somehow talk past each other.

She was about to suggest that she rather leave when she remembered something else she'd been meaning to ask him.

Ann perked up and went back to the angel and sat down on her usual perch.

"I've been meaning to tell you." She said with a smile. "I've heard the most interesting things these past few days. Did you know that the Opera had a Ghost? I heard some of the ballet girls talk about it this week.

She could feel that she suddenly had his attention. Ann smiled at him.

"What do you know about him? I mean, you've been here for a while right? Personally I don't believe in it but if you've seen him…"

"Why is that important?"

Ann raised an eyebrow.

"So you have?" She queried intrigued. "When?"

"I didn't say that."

She smiled slightly. "Then what did you say?" She asked. The conversation was going better. He seemed… amused by it.

He moved ever so slightly and she could feel him watching him intently.

"What did you hear about this Ghost?"

The amusement was definitively there.

Realizing that the only answer she would receive was more questions Ann shrugged.

"Lots of things." She said. "But, as it's from the ballet girls, I'm not sure what's real and what's not. They're a bit excitable." She giggled and shook her head. "They say that he has a skeleton face with fire for eyes. Some of the girls claimed that they heard him walking up and down the corridors and that they could hear the bones in his body going 'click, click, click…'" She tapped her cane against the wall with every click and laughed. "That's why I know he's not real because everything that they say can be explained. The way I figure it, we're the Ghost. The click click and whispered voices that they hear are probably ours when we're walking in the next door corridors but they're too scared to go and look."

"It could be bones. He could be real."  
Ann snorted.

"I'll believe it's bones and I'll believe that he's real when I touch him." She said. "Anyway, from what I can gather this story has been running on and off a long time. I mean, I heard rumors dating back to before I was born."

There was a shift of fabric.

"Like what?"

Ann raised an eyebrow.

"You can probably tell me more than I can tell you." She said dryly. "I heard that he had murdered a ton of people. A cleaning lady, a scene changer, a horde of singers and, the most talk over, a young pair of young lovers: Christine Daae and Raoul de Changy."

She sensed a slight start but didn't know how to interpret it. She paused, wondering what she had said. She carried on a bit more cautiously.

"Now, when I heard of them I knew that it wasn't real." She said mildly. "I mean, I know for a fact that they got married and is… what?"

She immediately knew that she had said the wrong thing when the book dropped to the floor as he leapt to his feet.

She took in an unconscious sharp breath as she felt him stare her down.

"I'm sorry." She whispered, though she wasn't sure what she was apologizing for.

The silence around them stretched.

Ann sighed rubbed the bridge of her nose.

"Sometimes I wish you'd talk to me." She said with a soft sigh. "Monsieur Erik, I can't always sense what I should and what I shouldn't. I don't know what subjects are off limits, and which aren't. I read you better than most people, but I'm not psychic. I didn't mean to upset you with this conversation. I just… wanted to talk."

When he didn't answer her she sighed and stood up.

"I'll leave you alone for now." She said. "I'll find my own way back."

He didn't move nor did he speak to her as she passed him.

Ann hesitated as she moved by him, stopped and then just briefly touched his wrist. "I'm not sure when you'll see me again." She said softly. "M. Reyer has started to couch me again as you know, so… I'm not sure what will happen to my time. But if I'm free… I would like to know the end of that story."

She squeezed his wrist slightly and left.

He didn't even turn around to watch her leave…

* * *

_Surprised. _

_And shocked.  
He stood there for a very long time. _

_His wrist burned. _

_He didn't expect her to say those names.  
Not her. _

_They did not belong in _their_ world, in _their_ time… _

_He stopped himself.  
No. _

_Those thoughts were dangerous. _

_Ann LeRoux was dangerous._

_He should stop this_…

* * *

Ann went straight to her room. Confused and unable to figure out whether she should be upset or not. She couldn't think of anything that she had done or said wrong as she replayed the conversation in her head.

In the beginning he had seemed quite willing to talk about this Opera Ghost. She almost thought that he found it amusing.

It was, she thought distracted as she counted her steps, the Opera Ghost wasn't real. There was no such thing as ghosts.

She sighed and stopped out outside the living compartments.  
What was she doing here? She berated herself. This place wasn't going to help her still the restlessness. What was she going to do in her room anyway?

Read?

She laughed dryly and shook her head.

She should've stayed with him, but – she wasn't sure whether he had wanted her too.

Was it her fault? Was it the fact that she mentioned her parents?

Ann bit her lip and turned around.

She needed a breath of fresh air.

* * *

He was much calmer.

Taking a deep breath he bent down and picked up the book where it had fallen and ran his fingers over the cover.

Gulliver's Travels.

The book disappeared in his cloak as he walked forward to edge and stared out over Paris. He couldn't blame young Ann, she didn't know, she couldn't see the truth.

But, something he should also do was get some distance between them, if only for a few days. He was getting too caught up in her world, too dependent on her company.

If he wasn't careful he would soon start…

He paused and looked down.

It was already getting dark and he could just make out some to the shapes that moved around beneath him.

One in particular caught his attention.

He frowned.

_Now what was that foolish girl doing down there?

* * *

_

This was just what she had needed; Ann decided as she slowly but determinedly made her way down the one side of the Opera. The combination of the independence she felt to be out on her own, as well as the thrill that accompanied the knowledge that she wasn't really allowed to was just enough to still her restlessness.

She wasn't going to go far, she decided. She was just going walk down the one side and back up.

Maybe around the block.

She'd be back before dinner.

She felt a chill travel up her spine and glanced back.

_Somebody_ was following her.

Ann sniffed and closed her eyes.

She heard nothing except the usual late afternoon street sounds and distant mingling of people. Sniffing she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and carried on walking a bit more briskly.

Just down the one side and back. She decided. Just…

She jumped as somebody took a hold of her arm.

"Pardon Mademoiselle…"

* * *

So much for distance, he thought dryly as he watched her from the roof.

He knew what she was doing.

In the past two weeks that they've been spending time together he has realized that Ann had this thirst to prove herself and a streak of independence that in his opinion couldn't be very good for her.

It was already late afternoon and dim light was making it hard for him to follow her as she stepped into the shadows.

For the first time he felt a touch of apprehensiveness.

A part of him wanted to go down and follow Ann to make sure that she would be okay. There was of course that other part that just couldn't be bothered.

Or didn't want to be bothered.

He turned around and shook his head.

Not tonight, he decided.

* * *

Ann pulled her arm out of the unfamiliar grip and took a step back.

"Can I help you Monsieur?" she asked politely and tried to pin the unfamiliar voice.

The hand returned to her arm.

"I was about to ask you the same thing Mademoiselle. It's late; you should not be walking on your own."

Ann smiled and pulled away again.

"I'm just walking to the corner and back." She said, still polite. "If you'll excuse me?"

She had an uneasy feeling about this encounter. Although she could only hear one person she had a sense that there was at least one more.

She cursed under her breath; she should've told somebody that she was going out…

But then of course they wouldn't have allowed her to go.

She sniffed and started walking.

"It would be un-gentlemanly of me to let such a fine young woman such as yourself walk alone here."

Ann snorted but put on a polite smile.

"I'll forgive you Monsieur now…"

Without warning she was pulled back roughly around a corner and shoved against a wall. Ann didn't even think to scream before she felt something cold and sharp against her throat.

"I was rather hoping that you would." Her assailant said roughly. "Now Mademoiselle give…"

She never caught the last part as her assailant was thrown back with a cry of surprise.

"Hey you! What…"

Ann stood very still and shocked as the sounds of a struggle rose up around her. It felt as if it was over before it begun though as she heard her assailant cry out in fear and run away.

Shaking she pushed herself against the wall and took a steady grip on her cane that was still dangling from her wrist.

She wasn't sure whether her rescuer was still around, she could feel…

"Monsieur Erik?"

Nothing.

She looked around took an unsteady step forward.

"Monsieur Erik?"  
When she didn't get a reply she bit her lip and placed her hand against the wall. Taking a moment to get her bearings and remember the movements that had brought her here she turned in what she thought was the right direction and raced back to the Opera house as quickly as she could.

Suddenly the rest of the walk didn't feel so appealing anymore.

Independence wasn't always a good thing.

* * *

He glared after her from the shadows and put his mask back on.

Looking around he picked up the knife the thief had dropped and studied it. The perpetrator might've been clumsy and unskilled but his weapon was still sharp and deadly.

Shaking his head he put the knife away and pulled the cloak over his face.

Keeping close to the wall he hunched down and quickly followed after the fleeing girl. He hoped that she had been spooked enough.

He couldn't believe that she had tried such a foolish venture.

He was going to have to do something about it…

* * *

Ann stood just outside the door, arms folded tensely in front of her as she listened to the world around her.

Two people were shouting at each other in English.

A man was coughing to her left.

There was a cart with a squeaky wheel on her right.

She turned to go back inside but hesitated.  
She was going to do this.  
She had too…

The previous day's events had haunted her through the night and kept her distracted for most of the day. Her concentration was so lacking in fact that M. Reyer had dismissed her early from their individual practice.

She blushed with shame.

Rubbing over her face she turned around and put her cane in her right hand so that she could keep her left against the wall.

_She was going to walk to the corner and back!_

She couldn't allow this to ruin the time she had here.

And, she knew she couldn't allow this to brood. She had done enough of that already.

The previous night she had arrived back at the Opera house almost in tears. She didn't think that anybody saw her come in, or if somebody did – then they didn't know or care enough to approach her.

Aunt Meg had been harder to manage. Despite the fact that she had seen her a few hours after the incident the woman immediately picked up that something was wrong. She managed to tactfully avoid the subject and divert her attention somewhere else but she knew that it wouldn't stay that way for long. She was worried that M. Reyer might to and talk to her about her "niece's" certain lack of attention today. The woman would then remember the previous night and… It could get ugly.  
Aunt Meg was acting strange of late.

Far too protective.

Almost motherly.  
She smiled, and realized once again how much she admired the woman.

If she could be half the…

She stopped and leaned against the wall shaking.

_She couldn't do this… She didn't know what was going on…_

She closed her eyes and pressed her wrist against her forehead.

_She wished that he was here…_

No.

Ann took a deep breath and opened her eyes. Fighting the feeling that she was being watched she straightened and slowly started to move forward again.

He obviously wasn't going to be around forever and she wasn't even sure whether it had been he who had rescued her.  
Monsieur Erik followed his own course in life and she still wasn't sure whether he wanted her to be a part of it or not.

Sure he tolerated her but…

She shook her head.  
Guardian angel in deed.

She never needed people to help her, she never needed people to guide her, _she_ could do this on her own.

_She was disorientated, she couldn't trust her senses…_  
She wasn't blind, her sight was just inverted.

She smiled at herself and shook her head.  
She didn't even really know what that meant.

A hand slipped into the crook of her arm.

She froze, braced herself to be thrown again the wall…

"Are you planning on walking to London?"  
She felt so relieved she almost sagged against him but she settled for a soft sniff.

"I didn't know the Opera house was so small."

So, he had been around.  
She had realized quite suddenly that she was at the end of the block.

She had done it!

On her own!  
She smiled and pushed a stubborn piece of hair behind her ear.

"You are always around, aren't you?"

She didn't get an answer, nor did she really expect one.

They could've said a lot to each other in that instance as the darkness of the night wrapped itself around them.

She knew suddenly with certainty that he had been the one who saved her yesterday. Not that she had any real doubt but, she got her confirmation by the way he held her arm now. A strange set of emotions flowed through her as she unconsciously searched for his face.

Shame, appreciation, fear, doubt and… Trust.

* * *

He took the cane from her other hand and slowly started walking forward.

When she left the Opera again he had thought that he would lecture her, leave her, stop her… But again he just followed, watched… And saw her overcome a strange private hurdle.

Ann gave up her cane without fuss and followed him as he continued to walk down the street. As he unconsciously moved back against the walls of the Opera house he suddenly realised that she had moved closer to him and placed her free hand over the one he still had on her arm.

She lightly rested her head against his arm.

He had to stop and look down at her.

Blind faith.  
Making sure that the cloak was securely settled around his face he took the end and made sure that it enveloped her too.

It was getting cold, and he as planning to take her around the block.


	10. 9 Notes

**Chapter 9: Notes. **

He watched them as they practiced.  
Ann was sitting on the piano bench next to the ancient Chorus Master Monsieur Reyer. He could not see her face but he could almost see the look of pure concentration as she listened to the song he was playing.

"That note still doesn't sound right." Ann said finally as she shook her head, her dark hair spreading across her shoulders.

"I can sing it but… M. Reyer?"  
The man laughed softly. "You're the first one I know who'll dare criticize one of the Masters." He said pleasantly. "I did try to fix it for you remember?"  
Ann barked a laugh.

"Fix Monsieur is not the word I'll use."

The old man laughed again. "True." He said. "Remember young Ann, these music pieces were not meant for actual song coaching. It's a shame Mme. Le Fleur decided not to partake in this play. Have you asked anybody else whether they would like to help…"  
Ann hesitated and shook her head. "They're all very busy." She said. "Besides Monsieur, I know the words I just… Have trouble with the music for some unexplainable reason. My apologies for not standing with the rest and wasting your time…"  
M. Reyer touched her shoulder. "Nonsense." He said. "You've made remarkable progress this past week. I can understand why you want it to be perfect. Let's try that again shall we? Don't be worried of you don't get this right. Things are going to work differently from _Faust_ anyway because the chorus singers will be a little bit more mobile. We'll have to find you a more suitable place…"

_His_ concentration wavered from their conversation as he realised that Ann was right. If one took in consideration the way she listened to music the chorus of part would sound foreign to her.

There was a ghost of a smile behind the mask.

A week ago he had wanted to distance himself from the girl yet, in a strange turn of events he found himself spending more and more time with her.

And, looking forward to it.

Like now, he kept an eye on her through the day and read to her when she had the time to go to the roof. In the evenings, again when she had time to slip away from Little Meg Giry's watchful gaze, he took her for a walk around the city. They never ventured far from the Opera House. Except for the occasional business venture he very rarely left the Opera and had not gone out in the daylight for almost twenty years. He could not honestly say what kept in him the dark confines of his shadowy self made prison.

Necessity?

Probably.

He did not _need_ to go out into the daylight.

_Fear_?

Perhaps…

Although the word felt as if it was too strong to describe his feelings he was aware of the fact that the outside world was a hateful place. Young Ann's encounter the previous week was a perfect example of it.

Watching the two people in front of the piano he mused on how much he had come to admire Ann. Despite her circumstances, despite her apparent disposition in life and despite the way people tended to treat her she had allowed the human race to forge her into almost completely the opposite person compared to what they had made him.

He hoped that it would stay that way.

Unconsciously he closed his eyes as Ann started singing again. Up until now he had never really bothered to _listen _to her. He had heard her sing but with a dispassionate and critical ear. But now…  
Idle thoughts danced around behind the mask.

_Such an amazing range… _

With his couching she could be even better. M. Reyer was a good chorus master but a tutor…

_No._

He opened his eyes and gazed at young Ann Le Roux. He did not want to change her into another Angel of Music.  
He could not do that to her.

They're… Companionship was too precious for that.

There.

He smiled at the word.

_Companionship_.

He turned around to walk away but winched as Ann hit the part she had trouble with again. He looked back to them as he heard her made a frustrated sound.

"It can't be that hard!" She snapped at herself before M. Reyer could sooth her. The old man shook his head and gave her shoulder a slight squeeze.

"It's not that terrible Ann." He said gently. "And, you're not that far off. It was good."

The young woman snorted and shook her head.

"But it wasn't perfect." She muttered.

Again, that slight shake of the head from the ancient Chorus Master.

"It doesn't need to be Ann." He said kindly. "Very few things in life are. Sometimes, it's those things in life that we think is the most imperfect that turns out to surprise us all."

Ann sat still for a moment before she turned her face towards the man. Her blue eyes danced around him as she smiled lightly.

"I guess it's just a song right?" Her words were carefully chosen. She hesitated before she reached out and searched for the hand on her shoulder. "But thank you."

She sighed and reached for her cane that was lying next to the piano bench.

"Let's call it a night. I think… Perhaps I'll start singing with the rest tomorrow."

M. Reyer stood up and went over to her so that he could help her up and offer her an arm.

"Let's do one more solo practice." He said. "And, then, we'll see how it goes."  
Ann smiled in appreciation and allowed the man to lead her out of the room.

They pulled the door close behind them but didn't shut it completely. They're voices faded as they walked down the corridor.

"Monsieur, why is my Aunt acting so strange of late."  
He heard the Monsieur Reyer chuckle.

"Oh, don't you worry about her young Ann. She's just worried because her mother's coming back…"

He listened to them go, his mouth thin as he thought.

Despite the fact that he tried to stop it, music danced around him.

He didn't think that Ann would be able to get that piece right, even if she did start singing with the choir.

Yet… The change was so simple.

_He could…  
_No.  
_It's over now the Music of the Night. _

But, this wasn't his music.

He could just fix a few notes…

It would not be to his personal gain.  
Although he was still undecided he found himself stepping into the room.

The piano taunted him but he ignored it and rather reached for the pages that M. Reyer had left behind.  
It would be a favour towards a friend…

* * *

Walking back to the small practice room where the piano stood, he felt the music danced around him.

He had done it.

For the first time in more than two decades he had touched the music around him, he had shaped it to perfection, he had…

Thoughts, music and memories spiralled around him - carrying him, then, suddenly, choking him.

Leaning against the walkway high above the stage he suddenly clutched the papers to his chest and closed his eyes. He had known that the girl would bring him pain…

He shouldn't have crossed this line…  
The panic passes as suddenly as it appeared.

He felt his body relax and his thoughts quiet down.

He had not reached the point of no return yet, he soothed himself. He could still pull out. He was doing this willingly.  
For a friend.

He took a deep breath, adjusted his cloak and collar and walked on slowly.

This relationship was strange to him. Although he appreciated it, he wasn't sure whether he liked it yet.

Stepping over a dead rat he reached the end of the stage.

"Oh, that _Mademoiselle_ Giry is such a cow."

He stopped and looked down.

Sophia Carré and the two girls she usually kept company were walking across the stage, probably – like him – taking a short cut from one end of the Opera to the other.

"I wish my father could so something about her."

He frowned, carefully rolled up the papers and started following them.  
One girl, a tall brunette, agreed whole heartedly but the other was more hesitant, she appeared to be the youngest of the three.

"My mother, she was a ballet girl here when the Opera opened." Her voice was soft. "She says that the Giry's have always been here. They are good for the Opera…"

"That's nonsense." Sophia piped in. "The only reason they are here…"

He didn't need to hear another thing…

* * *

She couldn't believe that the woman turned her down for the ballet troupe again! Sophia Carré was sure that Mademoiselle Megan Giry was doing it on purpose. The woman had decided that she didn't like her and that was the end of it. She didn't even take into consideration that she had been given private ballet lessons since she was six.

"So when is your father coming here?" Celine asked to her left.

Sophia pulled herself away from her thoughts and smiled.

"Oh, tomorrow morning." She said. "I've been missing him terribly…"  
Something dropped on her head.

Sophia jumped startled and squealed as she shook her hair.

"What is it? What is it? Is it out?" She jumped back and looked at the ground.

Brown haired Celine frowned as she bent down to look at the ground.

"It appears to be…" She jumped back with a squeal. "A RAT! It's a dead rat! Oh, that's horrible…"

Sophia squealed again horrified and shook out her hair with more vigour.

"Oh, that is grotesque!" She exclaimed. "Come on let's get…"

"Waite…"  
Amy spoke up for the first time since she made the comment about the Giry's. The frail girl bent down and squinted at the ground.

"There's a note attached to its body…"  
The two other girls blinked at her.

"A _note_!"

Amy nodded and carefully reached out to pull the note away from the dead animal. She frowned at something, slipped it into her pocket and opened the paper.  
Her small eyes quickly scanned the paper before they widened.

"It's the Phantom of the Opera!" She breathed. "He's here! It's from him!"

Sophia frowned and snatched the note away from her friend.

"Nonsense." She snapped and started reading the note out loud.

"'_My greetings Mademoiselle Carré. _

_I was just passing by and couldn't help but over here your conversation. I feel that it is my duty to inform you that it would be best if you learn to respect this place you stand in as well as the people who serve it so dedicatedly. _

_There are a lot more things that dead rats up here. _

_Yours truly,_

_O.G'" _

The three girls stood in silence for a few moments. Celine stood very still as she hugged herself whilst Amy nervously looked up to the walkways.

Sophia crumbled up the note and balled her fist.

"Who did this?" She snapped. "This is some sort of sick joke. Do you know…?"  
Her friends shook their heads.  
Unconsciously a shiver passed up Sophia's spine but she ignored it and stuffed the note into a pocket of her dress.

"I'm going to take this too the managers!" She said. "It is unforgivable! I believe that someone is playing a joke and…"  
A heavy sand bag dropped from the top and landed a few yards behind them.

The three girls screamed and ran off of the stage…

* * *

It was petty and childish, but he had enjoyed every moment of it.

Smiling to himself as he thought back on yesterday's events he couldn't help but chuckle softly.

Ann's head snapped away from the piano as she looked in his direction.

"What is it Ann?" M. Reyer asked surprised.  
The young woman smiled slightly and shook her head.

"I thought I saw something." She said and laughed. "My apologies…"  
She was also in a good mood today he noticed.

News of Sophia's "haunting" had spread like wild fire and the rumours have grown to magnificent proportions. According to the staff in the kitchen the three girls had barely escaped with their lives…

But then of course, that was the way Sophia Carré told it.

He refrained from chuckling again and rather crossed his arms as he listened how Ann worked through the score, flawlessly.  
He didn't mean anything serious by threatening young Sophia and had done it purely for his own amusement. But, if it meant that she would step a little lighter and talk a little softer then he felt that his actions has also been directed at a good cause.

It felt so good to be a servant of the public.

Fighting to keep himself from chuckling so that he wouldn't disturb Ann again he closed his eyes and listened as she moved through her chorus part.

When the music stopped he heard a soft excited exclamation from her and opened his eyes just in time to see her give M. Reyer a half hug.

"You managed to fix it Monsieur! Thank you!"

The old man returned it but seemed less excited.

"It wasn't me Ann." He said softly. He seemed tense, nervous…

Ann, for once, was oblivious to it.

"Who?" She queried excited.

The man coughed and closed the piano.

"An old friend." He said vaguely. "But let's not think on that for now. We're done for the day. No, just wait for a moment," the old man's voice turned more excited, "I have something I want to tell you…"

He did not stay for the news.

Smiling, reflecting on what he had just heard – music and words alike, he turned around and left them there.


	11. 10 Point of No Return

**Chapter 10: Point of No Return. **

She knew that he was surprised to find her on the roof already.

Ann smiled as she let go of the small braid she had been plaiting into her hair and stood up.

"Good morning Monsieur Erik!"

She felt him hesitate.

"You're here early. Why didn't you wait for me?"  
Ann smiled and sat down. She had suspected that he didn't like surprises but she couldn't help herself.

"Why are _you_ here so early?" She queried cheerfully. "I thought, Monsieur, that _you_ were supposed to wait for _me_."  
There was a brief silence and then a sound that sounded suspiciously like a soft chuckle.

"I usually come here to make sure that nobody is around to see us." He paused. "Ann, coming here alone is dangerous. Somebody might have seen you and you wouldn't even know it…"  
She held up her hand to stop the coming lecture.

"There was nobody around." She said. "Do not worry Monsieur; everybody was called to a general meeting this morning. They are still busy. I won't come here alone again."  
A shift of fabric close to her told her that he had moved to stand closer to the edge and closer to her.

"And why aren't you with them?"

Ann shrugged and smiled.

"I already know what the announcement is." She said. "Not only did Aunt Meg tell me but M. Reyer as well." Her eyes sparkled. "Monsieur, do you know what it is? Have you heard?"

There, that was definitively a soft chuckle.

"Your enthusiasm appals me young Ann." He said.

She laughed.

"And your general lack of it appals me. You're in a good mood."  
She never thought that she would be able to make that statement.

"As are you."

She had a feeling that he was smiling at her. Or… As close as he came to smiling. She stood up and leaned against the large stone angel.

"Do you want to know why I'm excited?"  
She just managed to stop herself from giving him a teasing smile. Despite their sudden comfortableness with each other she didn't want to push her luck so to speak. She was very much aware of the fact that Monsieur Erik's emotions could turn around in a heart beat.

"You will most probably tell me anyway."  
She had to smile then. He was curious.

"The Opera house is going to have a… Patron night." She faltered a bit at what to call it. "It's going to happen in two weeks' time. Now, apparently the managers send the invitations weeks ago. The main staff knew about it but they thought that it was only going to be a ball. Then, last week the new Prima Donna, Signora Shannon Romano, came here ahead of schedule. Monsieur, she's good. My mother, she took me to listen to her when we were in London last year. I'm so surprised that the managers managed to get her. But I'm interrupting myself. The managers decided, on a whim that they want to give the patron's a small performance as well. Aunt Meg is irritated with them, but then she always is, because she doesn't think that she'd be able to get a decent ballet piece together. I say just take something most of the girls have done at some point…"

A hand lightly touched her elbow as she blinked out of her reverie.

Ann found herself blushing embarrass. "My apologies," she said with a small smile, "let me get to the point."  
Her gaze sobered up a bit as she stepped away from him and walked a few paces.

"They're going to hold a performance for the patrons." She said. "Not a big one, Signora Romano will give a solo performance, the ballet girls will do a dance and then the chorus, along with Signora, will do a performance. We have two weeks to practice for it! They're stopping everything on _Romeo and Juliet_ to prepare for this. It's a big thing because, as Aunt Meg said, if the patrons can be inspired to donate more money… Or bring new patrons…"  
She felt him studying her.

"There's more."

Ann blushed and returned to the stone angel. She sat down slowly and turned her face towards Paris.

"Monsieur Reyer says that one of the chorus girls will sing with Signora Romano for the last song." She said slowly, her eyes sparkling. "Although he has not come out and said it directly… I might…" Her face turned crimson. "He hinted that he might give me the chance."  
He was silent for a few moments.

Strangely embarrass about her excitement Ann rubbed her brow and squirmed awkwardly. "Don't understand me wrong Monsieur." She continued before he could say anything. "I don't really want the part. It's not about the "status" or the "glamour" that comes with this chance. I want to do it because… because…"  
When she looked up at where she thought he was her eyes sparkled with hope.

"This is the chance that I have been waiting for." She exclaimed suddenly. "Two weeks Monsieur, two weeks… If I can pull it off. If I can learn to sing that part or role or what ever it's going to be called perfectly then it's my chance to show these people that I can… Do things just as well as they do! That's why I came here, to prove to everybody who ever doubted me that I can do things on my own; I _can_ lead a normal life. If I can do this then, no matter what happens or where I end up because of…" She trailed off and sobered up a bit. "If I did this, and I have to leave here, then I can leave with the knowledge that… that I did it. I have never wanted anything from life Monsieur except a chance and this… If I get this role or even if I can learn the chorus part before the allocated time then I had that chance."

She trailed off, her initial excitement replaced with an awkwardness she didn't understand.

"Can you… understand that?"

He shifted for the first time since she started her tirade.

"Yes." He said, his voice low – but full of approval. "Yes I do."

* * *

_He was going to keep an eye on her of course. _

_Something in the way Ann looked at him, something in the way she walked and held herself today told him that she was going to put everything she had into this. He was starting to get to know her. She might neglect herself… _

_Shifting in his position in one of the rehearsal halls he watched as M. Reyer and a woman he didn't know were starting to organize people into more controllable groups. Ann was standing a little to one side with a calm, friendly expression on her face that told him that she was feeling insecure and disorientated. The noise in the hall was very confusing and he doubted it even she could figure out what was going on around her. _

_He watched as the other woman approached her and spoke a few quick words. _

_Ann nodded, said something and gratefully accepted the offered arm that would take her to one of the groups. _

_M. Reyer looked up and paused. The silent watcher frowned when he saw the Chorus Master close his eyes with a look of utter loss and self disgust. Seemingly tearing himself from his spot he quickly moved to where the woman was leading Ann. He spoke quick words and took Ann to one side. _

_A touch of worry flashed behind the Mask. _

_Something wasn't right…

* * *

_

Ann pulled away from the hand on her shoulder.

"What do you mean?" She exclaimed surprised. "Monsieur…"  
The old man lay a light hand on her shoulder again. "Ann, I'm sorry but you won't be able to partake in this." His voice sounded pained. "I know you want to but I don't think you'll be able to do it. Not in the short time that we have. I won't be able to coach you…"

Ann stepped back, fighting the sudden tightening in her throat.

"But I can do it!" She exclaimed. "Monsieur, you don't need to coach me, just… just let me stand with the people. I'll pick up the words. I will. Please… Please give me this chance."  
Her knuckles were tight on her cane.

"Ann I'm…"

"Monsieur please. Please don't do this."

Her hand searched around until she found his wrist.

"I'm sorry Ann, it's been decided."  
She blinked and felt warm tears slowly trail down her cheeks. Angry she wiped them away.

"Monsieur, why?" She insisted, trying to keep the choke out of her voice. "You know I can do it. Why?"

She knew that he wasn't looking at her. She could feel it.

"I'm sorry Ann." He repeated again. "But, that's how it will have to be. I have to get back. I'm sorry."

He left her.

She wanted to shout after him, demand an explanation… But, she knew that the choke in her throat would sooner have her in tears than words and it would cause a scene which she didn't want…

She sank to her knees and clutched her cane to her chest before she could stop herself. A soft sob echoed in her own ears as she bit her tongue so hard that she tasted blood.

"Pull yourself together Ann!" She snapped at herself. "Pull yourself to…"  
She stood up and quickly wiped the tears from her face. She would have to go back, through the hall, to the door where she had come in. She didn't want the others to see… She turned around and bumped into someone.

She gasped and stood back.

"I'm sorry I'm…"

Hands touched her shoulders.

"Oh Ann, what's wrong?"  
The young woman felt her teeth snap together.  
_Sophia?_

"Ah… Nothing Sophia I'm…"  
She tried to turn away but the hands remained on her shoulders.

"Don't lie, I can see you're upset Ann – what's wrong?"

Her voice sounded really sincere.  
Ann didn't know what to do.

"I ah…" She hesitated and nervously pushed some hair behind her ear. "I'm not allowed to partake in this performance. M. Reyer said…" She shook her head and kept her head down, unsure of how to stand, feeling very awkward with Sophia's physical touch that kept her in position.

The hands gave her shoulder a slight squeeze.

"Oh, but that's awful!" Sophia exclaimed. "That can't be fair, you love doing this! You're a quick study…"

Ann felt her face turning crimson.

"That's what I said." She muttered but shook her head. "I have to go Sophia, you have to start practicing."  
The hands never left her shoulders.

"Well, I don't think it's fair!" She said. "Why don't you go talk to the managers? I'm sure they can figure something out or talk to M. Reyer."  
Ann swallowed.

"I'm sure he has his reasons." She said softly. "I have to…"

"No." Sophia insisted. "You go to the managers, and you ask them whether they would talk to M. Reyer. I'm sure they'll be discreet. This is unfair Ann, you as much a part of the chorus as I am. It wouldn't be right if you're not there."  
The hands became a hug.

Ann's face burned.

"I don't know where they're offices are…"

"I'll tell you. We can't just let this go."  
Ann swallowed then slowly returned the hug.

"Thank you Sophia, thank you very much…"

* * *

_He couldn't understand it. _

_How could someone, who read him so well – stare so blindly into the face of another who was, quite obviously, being insincere? He did not know what M. Reyer had told Ann, nor did he hear what that young wench of a Sophia Carre told her but he could read her body language and it did not merit the hug Ann gave her. _

_When the two girls went their separate ways he experienced a brief moment of indecisiveness. A part of him wanted to go to Ann and discover what upset her so, while the other wanted to follow Sophia and find out where she was going. The young blond woman wasn't staying with the others. He frowned when he noticed young Amy give her a disapproving look when she left the hall. Naturally, Sophia didn't give her a second glance. He thought for a moment that Amy would follow Ann when she too left the hall but the timid girl bit her lip and shook her head to herself. _

_Moving to where he could see where they were going he saw Ann going in one direction and Sophia the other.  
After some consideration he followed the blond haired girl. _

_Ann would be fine on her own.

* * *

_

Following Sophia Carre had turned out to be a fruitless exercise. She had gracefully made her way to one of the smaller practicing rooms and stayed there for most of the day. Unfortunately it was one of the rooms where he did not have and easy vantage point so, after much contemplation he returned to the practice hall. Ann still hadn't returned and a slow sinking feeling was telling him that she probably would not.

There was only one thing that could upset her so much…

Sighing, he found himself first going to the living compartments she shared with little Meg, but she wasn't there.

_A touch of anxiety. _

He turned around quite abruptly and went made his way to the roof.

She had said that she wouldn't go up there again this morning but…

It was raining softly when he stepped through the door and, at first glance he thought that the roof was indeed empty. He slowly walked forward and looked around.

His suspicion had been correct.

Ann wasn't huddled at her usual spot but rather just behind the two horses where he himself had hid so many years ago. Her cane lay discarded a few yards from her and the rain could not hide the tear streaks that ran over her cheeks. Walking around slowly so that he could look at her he was suddenly over come by a memory of a young dark haired girl huddled in the Opera's chapel, crying…  
He shook the image away.  
Ann was not Christine.  
They were not alike.

Slowly he hunched down.

"Ann… Ann, what's wrong?" His voice was soft, his tone gentle.

_How long has it been since he felt even a shadow of concern?  
_The girl blinked startled and jumped up.

"Monsieur Erik I…"  
He had to grab a hold of her to stop her from loosing her balance.

Ann shook disorientated and turned away from him.

"I did not think that you would come back here." Her hand moved to her face to rub away the tears. "Don't you have a job I…"  
Her voice was thin as she tried to pull away from him but he refused to let go of her arm.

"What's wrong?"

He didn't think that he had ever seen her cry before. Not really, not like this.

She kept her face turned away from him but even so he could see a fresh set of tears brimming in her closed eyes.

"It's nothing." She said. "It's… I have to go. I did not think that you would return."

When she pulled away from him again he let go of her arm. She took a step back and looked almost awkward as if she suddenly didn't know what to do with herself.

"What happened in the rehearsal hall?"

If Ann was surprised that he knew she didn't show it. Carefully making her way across the floor she went in the general direction where her cane was.

"Nothing."

He knew the heat in the answer wasn't directed at him but her unwillingness to trust him…

He closed his eyes, preparing himself to drop the subject when Ann suddenly hunched down and put her head in her hands

"I can't find it." She muttered to herself. "It was…"  
He did not turn to look at her or help her. _If she could not trust him…_

"They don't want me to sing at the patron evening."

He turned around slowly. Ann was still hunching down, her wet hair covering her face in dark ringlets. Her hands were now clasped in front of her as she clutched them between her knees. Her eyes stared blindly at the cane that was just out of reach.

"I'm not even allowed to stand at the chorus."  
He frowned slightly. Considering how much she had been looking forward to it he could understand that Ann was upset but, as upset as she was now? It… didn't fit.

She was not so much a child… He echoed a bold statement from their last conversation.

"There's more."

Ann closed her eyes, bit her lip and slowly dropped forward to her knees. She found the cane quickly enough and stood up.

"It doesn't matter." She tried to brush him off as she moved past him back to the door. "It doesn't…"  
He could almost see how she tore herself in two.

Ann Leroux stood very still for a very long time.

Her shoulders threatened to start shaking with sudden silent sobs but it passed as they hunched over uncertain. She ran her hand over her face then turned around.

Her blue eyes were cold fire as she stared at him.

"You know, it does matter!" She said with sudden vehemence. "It does matter because they had no right!"

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Ann turned away from the door and started packing furiously, ignoring the raindrops that fell down around her.

"They had no right to say what they did." She carried on furiously. "No right. Nobody had. I can do it. It doesn't matter…"  
Emotions played across her face and he almost suspected that she didn't know quite how to handle them.

"What doesn't matter Ann?"

He moved a little closer without entering the space he sensed she needed.

When she turned to look at him again her face was almost a twisted mask of pain.

"That I'm blind." She whispered, the anger vanished as quickly as it flared up and a sob threatened to break through. "That I'm blind. _I am not disabled…"_

He allowed her to stand there on her own.

Ann swallowed, bit her lip and turned around again.

"I have never felt blind…" She began slowly. "Until I came here. I have never felt… inadequate, until I came here. I have never felt as if… I'm not worthy or I'm good enough until I came here. But, I worked through it. I got use to it. In this familiar darkness I found solace that…" She bit her tongue, swallowed and carried on with a touch of heat in her voice.

"They don't want me to participate in the performance purely on the fact that they don't think I can do it!" She shook her head and carried on pacing. "They only _see_ me how they want to _see_ me! What would it hurt them if they just give me a chance to try and do it! I can! Since I came here I've had to prove myself to every person who I had to deal with. I had to try over and over again to win respect, to make them see me as… normal. I thought I had managed that with some! I thought that I had made them see past the cane, past the darkness. I know that that didn't happen with even half of the people here but M. Reyer… Why did he do this? Why did he let them do this? I thought he was different. I thought he knew I could… I am not disabled! It's a gift! Being blind is a gift! I don't want to be like them! I…"  
Tears threatened again.

Ann closed her eyes and leaned against the stone angel.

"I hate here." She whispered suddenly. "I hate it…"  
That couldn't be true.

Slowly, hesitantly he moved over to her so that he could stand next to her.  
Ann put the cane down next to her and rubbed at her eyes.

When she took her hands from her face again she swallowed and stared at them blindly.

"All I wanted was a chance." She whispered softly. "Just a chance…"

He crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked up at the grey clouds overhead.

"Who's denying you that chance?"

Ann crossed her arms as well.

"M. Reyer." She said without thinking then shook her head. "No, sorry. I don't really think it's entirely his fault." She sighed and looked up. Betrayal was a hard emotion to deal with. "The managers I think." She said finally. "They were the most…" She shook her head.

"Sophia Carre?"  
He had to know what the girl told her.

Ann blinked and shook her head.

"No, ah… surprisingly I think she was trying to be a part of the solution." The young woman frowned and ran her hand over her face. "She told me to go to the managers; she even told me how to get there. I was… quite surprised."

And he wasn't convinced.

"Maybe she sent you there on purpose, knowing what they would say."  
He did not realise that he had spoken out loud until he saw Ann shake her head.

"How could she have known?" She said miserably and closed her eyes. "They were _so_…"

* * *

_Three, four… stop. _

_Ann swallowed, feeling insecure and more than a little disorientated.  
_Five doors on your left_, Sophia had said. _Down this passage, take a right at the end and then five doors on your left.

What had inspired her to help her?_ Ann wondered. In all her time her Sophia hasn't been nice to her once. In the company of the other Opera staff she wasn't openly hostile and once or twice Ann had even started to doubt herself. She might be the one sensitive, she might be the one taking her actions and emotions the wrong way…  
Maybe… _

She was stalling.

_She would be so embarrass if this was the wrong door.  
Biting her lip she put her head against the wood. At least there were voices coming from the inside… _

_Steeling herself she slowly knocked her knuckles against the frame.  
There was a pause then… _

"_Who is it?" _

_She couldn't place the voice._

"_Ah, Monsieur Firmin, Monsieur Andre? It's… Ann Leroux." _

Please let it be them, please let it be them_… _

_The door opened. _

"_Ann…?" A touch of hesitance in the word. "Oh, yes. It's Meg Giry's girl Andre. Come in child." _

_She swallowed and moved inside hesitantly, running through her archive of voices. Unless she was mistaken it had been Monsieur Firmin who had opened the door. She had heard him on occasion though had never had the need to speak to him personally. _

_There was another person, or two – in the room. She wasn't sure. _

"_What can we do for you child?" _

Monsieur Andre._  
She always had the impression that he had a little less patience than his partner. _

"_Messieurs, I'm… sorry for bothering you." She said quickly. "If you have a moment?"  
Monsieur Firmin was still standing next to her. _

"_If it's going to be brief Ann… What is your surname again?"  
She licked her lips. _

"_Leroux."_

"_Of course, with what can we help you? Do you want to sit down?"_

"_Richard…"_

"_Not now Andre…"_

_The conversation threatened to start over her head._

_She declined the offer to sit down. _

"_I'll be brief." She assured them again, her cheeks colouring. "Messieurs, I have a favour to ask."  
A startled silence.  
She carried on quickly, lest their patience run out. _

"_I would like to ask you permission to try sing in the chorus." She said quickly. _

A shocked silence.

"_Why child, you're already singing in the chorus." Monsieur Firmin said. "What do you…"  
She shook her head. _

"_I meant at the patron night." She said a little bit more self assured. "Monsieur Reyer said that I am not allowed, that he refuses to teach me but all I ask is for him to let me stand with the group. If you could perhaps speak…"  
A hand touched her arm. _

"_Ann, sorry – we can't do that." Monsieur Firmin's voice was soft and gentle.  
She frowned and, without being rude, moved away from his touch. _

"_Why not Messieurs?" she queried. _

_She heard someone stand up. _

"_Because it was we who told him not to bother Ann."  
Monsieur Andre sounded impatient. _

_Ann was so shocked she couldn't immediately think of anything to say. _

"_Andre please…" Monsieur Firmin snapped. "Use some tact man…"  
He turned to her._

"_Mademoiselle, it's not like that." He said. "Coaching you would take a lot of Monsieur Reyer's time and unfortunately this evening is _so_ important…"  
Pale and furious, Ann took a breath. _

"I know that!"_ She snapped. "That is why I want to be a part of it! Messieurs, I am not asking for Monsieur Reyer to coach me, I am merely asking for a chance to stand with the chorus and partake in their practice session so that I can try and learn this piece before that evening!" _

_Monsieur Andre moved out from behind what she figured would be a table. _

"_Have you ever been able to learn something as hard as this will be, with no coaching, in less than two weeks?"  
Ann hesitated. _

"_No." She admitted. "But Monsieur, I can do it! I know I can! And, if I can't then I won't join the chorus! I'll stand down I'll…"_

"_Then it would've been a big waste of your time in which you could've done something more fruitful."  
Monsieur Andre _was_ more impatient than Monsieur Firmin. _

_She opened her mouth. _

"_But…"_

"_No buts." _

_And his patience seemed to have run out with her. _

"_Ann Leroux, we're doing you and your Aunt a big favour by allowing you to be here. I can assure you there are many other girls who would be glad to take your place. I have to say, you have surprised us all with your talent and your vigour. I mean, who would've thought that a blind girl could sing in the _Opera Populaire_. We admire you and appreciate how you have managed to soar above your disability but do not try our patience. You will not partake in the patron's performance."  
She was shaking. _

_Try as she might, she couldn't find anything to say.  
Monsieur Firmin touched her arm again. _

"_Ann, I'm sorry." He said. "But it's just one night. If you want, I can send you home for that time. You don't have to worry about the transport or…"  
Blinking tears she shook off his hand and rushed out of the room, slamming the door behind her._

_They're last words echoing through her head. _

"Andre, that was cruel."

"Sometimes it's cruel to be kind Richard… Sometimes…"

* * *

"…patronizing." Ann finished her sentence.

He looked at her.

The maelstrom of emotion had left her and had been replaced by a somber distance.

Running a hand through her wet hair, Ann suddenly seemed more alone than he had ever seen another human being look.

"Sometimes…" She began softly, with a tone that said she was done speaking. "I just wish everyone would see me as you do."  
She turned to smile at him then, sadly but kindly.

"I'm going to my room Monsieur, I will not be good company."  
She picked up her cane where it had slipped and moved past him.

When she brushed against him she hesitated and slowly reached out to find his wrist. He found himself holding his breath as her fingers danced over his arms and finally settled just below his hand.

Her fingers were cold.  
She squeezed his wrist lightly in the strange show of affection that she had adopted and left the roof.

* * *

_Candles and torches flickered and danced as the shadow swept by them. _

They were going to turn her into him…  
They were making her feel less than she was.

They were…

_He could put an end to it.  
He could interfere. _

_He could coach her… _

No.

It's over now…  
_The shadow stopped. _

_He had promised himself, he had promised..._

"It's over now the Music of the Night!"

_The voice echoed through the chamber. _

_More pacing. _

If he interfered, if he allowed himself to do that - he would pass the point of no return. Then there would be no turning back

Then, he would be hers as much as she was his.

The Point of No Return.

Somehow, he had never fully grasped those words' true meaning.

He could not pass it, he could not…  
_He closed his eyes and sank down. _

_Cold hands touched the mask._  
Cold hands touched his wrist.

_A cold laugh escaped behind the mask. _

He had already passed it.

That forbidden line.

He had passed it the day he brought her to the roof.

_No. _

He had passed it the day he gave her that cane.

The laughter almost became a cry of pain.  
There was one last line he had to cross.  
He could not help Ann Leroux yet.  
The Music of the Night…

* * *

He watched her sleep, her one hand over her head, the other resting on her chest.

Evidence of her sorrow still clung to her face.

A bird sang in the distance, dawn was approaching.  
Slowly, he reached out and rubbed a piece of hair out of her face.

The young woman stirred and opened her eyes.

Her blind blue orbs found him immediately.

She didn't say anything, but she didn't need to. He knew that she knew that he was there.

"How badly do you want to prove yourself to them?"

She never blinked, never took her eyes from him.

"More than anything."  
He had to know.

"What are you willing to sacrifice to sing?"  
No hesitance.

"Anything."

"Would you sacrifice even your life?"  
Those blue eyes bore into his.

"I already have."

He smiled and pulled her up.

"Come with me."


	12. 11 Music of the Night

**Chapter 11: Music of the Night. **

Strange sounds echoed around her.

Ann swallowed dryly and tightened the grip she had on the horse's mane.

It wasn't necessary though, the hand around her waist kept her secure enough.

She was sitting, tightly pressed against Monsieur Erik chest. She didn't know whether it was his or one of the Opera's animals. He never said and she didn't ask.

They had not spoken to each other since they mounted.

Ann didn't really know what to say, which was a very strange feeling for her.

There was a serious and solemn air around them, one that was more pressing than the damp, almost cold darkness she felt around her.

"_You will not speak of this to anyone."_

Perhaps the reason why they did not speak was because he had already said everything there was to say when he brought her down to the stables.

"_You will always leave your cane behind in your room, but hide it so that Mme. Giry can't see it. You will not question me, nor leave my side for the whole time that we are busy. In the event that I do have to leave you for a moment, you will not walk around or explore on your own. After this, we will also not speak of it ever again." _

He had not told her where they were going.

They had been travelling for the better part of half an hour which logically told Ann that they should be very far from the Opera yet… In a sense conflicting with her logic she felt as if they had barely left at all.

The animal suddenly snorted and tossed its head…

* * *

There was no boat this time, no cause for illusion or call to impress.

For his own sake as well as hers, he had to keep this as real as possible…

Ann's body felt warm against his chest as he felt every quick, nervous breath that she took. Sitting sideways in front of him, her one arm was securely wrapped around his back while the other was tangled in the horse's mane. He could feel that she was uncertain, perhaps even a little afraid but, true to his order she never questioned him.

And she never looked back.

Suppressed memories tried to surface like broken thoughts from an endless nightmare.

_Surreal. _

_You are here. _

_A dream come true! Oh, what sweet music would we make together! _

_Oh Christine, Christine… _

_To feel you, touch you… _

No._  
Why do you look back Christine?  
Christine. _

The large black stallion stopped at the lake and tossed his head nervously. Although this was not the first time he rode this particular animal it was the first time he brought him down here. He had come to favour him when he had to borrow an animal from the stables when duty called him to the other side of town.

Using his legs more than the reins he made sure he had a secure grip around Ann's waist before he placed both heels behind the saddle's girth.

The stallion voiced his protest with a soft whine but after turning sideways once he seemed to contract his body and jumped in.  
Ann gasped a yelp as water splashed up onto her legs and into her lap. She let go of her hold on the mane and clasped her other arm around his chest.

Too late he realised that he should probably have warned her but, in a way, this tested her resilience.

Although he could now sense that she desperately wanted to ask him where they were going, Ann Leroux kept her mouth shut and rather closed her eyes.  
She did not relinquish her hold around his chest.

As they rode past the large cavern he caught a glimpse of the organ. It seemed to taunt him as phantom pains shot up his hands, reminding him of the time he had painstakingly constructed it.

It stood second in what he considered to be his greatest achievements.

_Christine…_

* * *

Chirstine!  
_The Mask yelled the name.  
_Christine how could you, Christine…

_His hands danced feverishly over the keys of the Organ as Music unlike he had ever felt before swirled around him – pausing only to give way to the almost agonizing scratch of the quill. _

How could you Christine! I gave you my Music, my Music…

_He had to stop. _

_Gasping like a drowning man he stared at what he had written. _

Past the point of no return,

The final threshold –

What warm, unspoken secrets will we learn?  
Beyond the point of no return…

Secrets! _His mind rasped.  
_Secrets!

Did they think he would not notice the ring she so lovingly took out ever so often to look at? Did they think he would not notice the adoring expressions they shared across the room?  
Did they think he won't notice _his_ sent on her!

_With a cry of rage he grabbed the closest thing that he could find and hurled it across the room. The candle looked like a strange firefly… Or a shooting star. _

_Strangely enough – it didn't go out. _

_Instead it just flickered for a moment and, only as it landed, flickered once and died. _

_Before it did though, it had set ablaze the piece of paper it landed against. _

_Shocked he watched as the portrait started burning. _

_With a cry of protest he ran across the room and quickly tried to hit out the flames but it only got worse as if feeding off of his defiance. _

_In a last desperate measure he leaped down into the water and dipped in the burning end.  
When he withdrew the now soggy and scorched paper the one half had already been destroyed almost beyond recognition.  
The dark eye that was left of the once beautiful sketched girl stared at him accusingly. _

He had scarred her, scarred her…

Christine!  
_Chocking on the warm tears that trailed across his cheek, he limped back to the organ like a broken, old man. _

_Placing the malformed portrait before him he carried on numbly…

* * *

_

Six months.  
He had spend six months down in this prison, working feverishly like a man obsessed. He threw everything he had into _Don Juan Triumphant. _He never even knew that he had such Music within him. It had ensnared him, strangled him, buried him and kept what was left of his soul alive. Only the duty full compassion of a woman who's live belonged to him, as much as his live belonged to her, kept him alive.

He hoped that Antoinette Giry enjoyed her time on his estates.

Allowing the stallion to choose its own way out of the lake he looked around the cavern and made to pull Ann's hands away from him but she let go before he had the chance. There was a flicker of a smile on her lips as she held onto the horse's mane again.

Staring at the back of her head he had to resist the urge to run his hand through her soft curls. Instead he dismounted and gently caught her as she slipped off as well.

"Stay here with him." He said softly to avoid an echo. "I'll be back."  
Ann bit her lip and swallowed.

"I'll help you with rubbing down the horse." She said and blinked startled as her voice echoed around her. "I…" Her own voice seemed to unsettle her. "I know horses. My father allowed me to work with them…"  
She trailed off, though only partly from his lack of response.

Numbly the blind girl moved back and pressed her body against the stallion.

The large animal bent his head down and nuzzled her hand as the shadow of the Mask walked away from her.

* * *

Entering from a small passage at the back he looked around and sighed.

Returning to this room twice in such a short time was more than he could bear. Despite its size, the organ seemed to tower above him, taunting him with the memories it had witnessed.

'_Track down this Murderer, he must be found…'_  
Those words would never leave him. Nor the last gasps of a dying man.

He closed his eyes and shook his head.  
_Not today._ He breathed. _Not that, not today._

He was facing enough demons as it was.

Sighing softly he searched around in what was left of his kingdom for something he could give to Ann and use to dry the stallion.

He missed his first few, almost care free, years that he had spent here. Life was simple then, with more space than he had ever dreamed existed.

The darkness, the Opera and the Music seemed to nurture him, envelope him and watch over him.

The Angel of Music…

He laughed suddenly and shook his head.

In the beginning he had been thought that he had been the one who had been touched. He had never had a decent education yet, somehow Music made sense to him. As if compelled by something higher than himself he started learning everything about the Music and the instruments that he could.

He felt another surge of appreciation for Antoinette Giry. She had helped him where she could and had taken her promise more serious than he had thought she would.

At times he had thought that he should release her from her promise but at first there was never the right moment and later…

He shook his head and forced the dark thoughts away.

He turned to face the organ.

"I won't use you." He said. "Not for this. I am not the Angel of Music anymore. But I can help this girl."

Saying it brought a new wave of determination over him and he straightened himself. Remembering something, he walked to a small passage behind the organ and took out an old weathered crate.

He opened it and took out a bundle of old, musty smelling costumes and clothes.

He turned his back on the organ and moved out of the room.

There was a lot that he had to do and he knew that he could now help Ann Leroux.

Smiling, he walked back to the chamber where he had left the girl, paying the phantom that walked past him no mind…

* * *

_The organ felt as if it was brushing against the ceiling. Slowly, he staggered up the small dais and sank down on the bench. _

_His breathing was ragged as he slowly reached out to touch the seemingly glowing keys. A mere breath from them though he stopped as his hands started shaking. Fighting to keep his hands from pulling into claws he let out a silent cry and pulled his hands away as if he had been burned. _

He couldn't do this…

"_No!" He cried out and pressed his hands to his chest. _

All I wanted was a chance. _The spectre whispered behind him. _

_He had to try and give her that chance. If he didn't, he was almost certain that he was going to loose her. _

_He would now allow that to happen. Not again!_

_Forcing himself to relax he tried to call up the inner calm he use to feel when he sat in front of the organ. _

_He reached out to touch the keys again but this time his hands couldn't even come close to them. _

_He cannot! He realised. This organ was meant for the Music of the Night, it was useless. The Music was no more… _

_He turned from it and stood up, the dying whisper still on his lips._

"Christine…"_  
The organ couldn't be used to teach Ann.  
He had to find another way…

* * *

_

He found her still standing as he had left her.

Ann still had her body tightly pressed against the horse's shoulder, and was murmuring softly in German. The large black stallion had turned his head so that he could nuzzle her hip. Ann in turn had managed to put her one arm around his head and was slowly rubbing his nose.

She twitched when he walked in and turned her head slightly to the side to try and focus her hearing. When she found him she kept her head turned in his direction until he was almost beside her.  
Ann looked up and smiled.

"I like your horse."  
He didn't say anything immediately, despite the need he sensed in her. Putting the bundle of clothes on the floor he sorted through them and took out a thick, fur lined cloak.

"Take this." He said as he put it in her hands. "It gets cold here."  
Ann stepped away from the horse, appearing unsteady and almost foreign without her cane. She ran her hands over the cloak, exploring the different textures her sense of touch showed her. When she was satisfied she slipped it over her shoulders.

"This is nice, thank you." She paused and stepped closer as he started to rub the water from the animal's body. "Let me help."

She did not even consider that he would say no.

'_I just wish everyone would see me as you do.'_

He relinquished his piece of torn clothing to her and went to the other side.

It didn't take them long to dry the animal sufficiently, Ann worked fast and comfortably. She had spoken the truth when she said she knew how to work with horses.

He felt a sudden, strange appreciation for the young woman's parents. Who ever they were, it was clear that they had put a lot of effort into teaching her to be independent and as adequate as her blindness allowed her.

Leading the horse over to some hay he had placed there the night before he went over and slipped his hand into Ann's elbow.

"Let's get started." He said softly. "There's a piano back here…"

* * *

_The piano had been the first instrument that he had attempted to build. _

_Or rather, it had been more of a reconstruction job. In his initial wandering through the Opera house he discovered a room filled with old broken instruments. _

_Fascinated he had spend a whole evening searching through them, taking some apart and trying to fit them back together. One thing in particular caught his attention and, by the next evening he had _borrowed_ a set of tools with which to take it apart. _

_At first he had only taken off the outer wood so that he could see the inside of the damaged instrument, then – after he had taken the risk to study one of the practice room's piano's he slowly took the instrument apart and brought it to this section of the underground caves. _

_Standing before it for the first time in more than twenty years he almost gave a hollow laugh as he remembered how long he had struggled to put it back together, only to discover that it was in a worse condition than he found it. _

_It had taken several attempts and many many weeks to finally get it right. _

_Sitting down he felt less daunted as he had been by the organ but fear and uncertainty still vibrated within him. _

_He had not touched any instrument in decades. Despite the tearing call he felt within him he could not make himself face it. _

_Stretching his fingers over the keys he felt the same anxiety and fear. It wasn't the thought of the music anymore that scared him, it was the thought that perhaps, in the midst of all the time that had passed, he had lost it. _

_He couldn't face knowing that he will never play again. _

_Closing his eyes he slowly began to mime a few notes, his fingers stopping less than half a breath from the keys. _

_At first he felt nothing, then slowly he felt a shift, just beyond the edge of notice. Tears stung behind the Mask as single notes started swirling around him. Stiff fingers slowly found their places on the keys as the notes became melody and, with tears slowly streaming down his face, the melody became Music… _

_All his previous thoughts, fears and even, for a brief moment, himself, disappeared as the Music filled his soul. For too long had he allowed himself to be starved, for too long he had wandered around, aimlessly, broken._

_As life returned to his body and the Music beat within him stronger than his own heart he knew suddenly that he had a new purpose. _

_He would help Ann Leroux, if only to keep her from the dark chasm that had trapped him for twenty years.  
He wasn't going to allow this world to turn her into him.  
_


	13. 12 Politics

**Chapter 12: Politics. **

She could not concentrate on her work.

Realizing that she was tapping off beat, Megan Giry lifted the cane from the floor and rather watched her ballet troupe as they moved before her.

Shannon was dancing half a step behind everybody else and Claudia didn't appear as if she was putting any effort into it yet, Meg could not bring herself to reprimand her.

The soft sobs of phantom eyes filled her vision as her heart ached for Julianne.

She couldn't get the broken girl out of her mind.

Julianne had been so disappointed in herself, feeling that somehow if she had been better, or if she had been…

Shaking her head Meg clapped her hands loudly, bringing everybody's attention on her.

"Girls, let us take a moment." She said. "I have to go somewhere, please excuse me I will be back shortly. When I return, Shannon, Claudia, I expect you both to bring your part." The threat was half hearted though.

Turning around Meg motioned to Annette, who sat behind the piano, to keep an eye on her girls before she left the room.

Making her way down to her apartments Meg tried to still the growing fear inside of her. During the past few weeks, her unease concerning Julianne's presence in the Opera had grown to an almost uncontrollable proportion.

Because of her busy schedule and overwhelming work load Meg hadn't been able to spend as much time with her ward as she would've preferred, and when she did Julianne seemed strangely distant, preoccupied. The young woman had always had a certain degree of distraction that followed her around; Meg guessed that it came with the solitude of her dark world yet, of late it was… Different.

More and more she felt as if Julianne was going to a place where she could not follow.

It was a strangely disturbing, familiar feeling.

Yet, she also felt that she couldn't begrudge the young woman the strange content that apparently came with that distraction.

Despite her perceptible solitude and withdrawal from the rest of the Opera's occupants she wasn't unhappy.

And, she didn't seem to crave company.

Meg stopped outside her apartments and rested her hand on the door handle.

Her worry spiked again.

That in itself was strange as well though because, despite everything – Julianne hated being on her own. Although she pretended not to need it the young woman craved constant company.

Sighing Meg rubbed her brow and, after knocking, entered her apartments.

Julianne wasn't there and, a quick scan showed that her door was still closed.

Meg felt a touch of trepidation. She had left Julianne to sleep in that morning.

Her ward had been so distraught that evening that she doubted whether she got any sleep and, truthfully, there was no reason for her to get up early.

Meg's mouth twisted with distaste at the Opera's politics. If only she could…

She shook her head and knocked softly.

"Julianne, are you still in there?" She queried softly. _"Ma chère_, it's time to get up."

When there was no reply Meg frowned slightly and knocked again.

"Julianne?"

She turned the doorknob slowly and stepped inside.

The room was empty.

Feeling the private humiliation that accompanied talking to somebody that wasn't there, Meg looked around the room.

Swallowing, she slowly stepped inside.

Something wasn't… Right.  
There was something different about the emptiness that hung around the space.

Her old sense screamed but Meg pushed it away.

Making sure that Julianne's cane was gone, she closed the door behind her and turned around slowly.

There was a faint, almost undetectable smell in the air.

_He's here… _

No.

He wasn't.  
She had gone down…

Listening to the increasing pace of her heart Meg closed her eyes and tested the air.

The smell was so faint, she was almost willing to believe that she imagined it.

Almost.

_Please… _

&&&

Leaving the apartments in a hurry Meg tried in vane to still the wild fear turning inside her.

_He_ wasn't here anymore. She told herself firmly. She had gone down and made sure. She was down there…

The Phantom…

Shivering she paused and leaned against the wall.

The Phantom of the Opera was gone. She told herself firmly.  
The Ghost was gone.  
Dead.  
Vanished.

Gone.

She didn't know which option was correct but she had to believe that at least one of them was true.

Since Julianne's arrival here she had been slowly but surely working herself up with this irrational fear.

Despite the rumours, despite the excited stories whispered around corners, she knew that there had been no real sighting or evidence of the Phantom for years.

He had become nothing more than a legend.

A joke.

Her heart missed a beat as she remembered her strange encounter with the managers in her mother's office.

They had never mentioned it again and she had never gathered up the nerve to ask them exactly what they had meant.

For a moment her fear gave way to a flash of irritation.

This was their fault she fumed. If they weren't so set on pleasing the patrons…

Rounding the corner she walked straight into M. Reyer who was going in the opposite direction.

Cursing softly Meg quickly apologized and picked up the papers he had dropped.

The ancient chorus master took a few steps back, just as surprised.

"My apologies Little Meg." He said embarrassed. "I was not paying attention…"

Meg laughed softly and handed him his papers.

"Neither was I Monsieur." She said. He was one of the only people whom she tolerated when he used her nickname. "I'm so sorry."

M. Reyer shared her laugh.

"As am I." He said. "Where are you off to? Shouldn't you be working with your girls?"

Meg nodded guiltily and sighed.

"I'm heading in their direction but I'm searching for Ann, have you seen her?"  
The Chorus master drew back a little bit and shook his head solemnly.

"I have not." He said softly. "Meg, I am…"  
The woman held up her hand and shook her head.

"It's not your fault Monsieur."

M. Reyer was not convinced.

"I could've handled it better." He carried on. "I should've insisted…"  
Meg sighed and shook her head again.

"That wouldn't have helped Monsieur." She said darkly. "It's more than your jobs worth."

M. Reyer gave her a respectful look.

"That didn't stop you."  
Meg had to smile slightly.

"They won't fire me." She said tartly. "They know my mother's coming back." She sighed and fidgeted with her dress. "Anyway, unlike them I'm not afraid of little girls who think that just because…"  
She trailed off and shook her head.

"Monsieur, I have to go find Ann."

The old man nodded.

"I'll keep an eye open for her." He said. "Though, I doubt whether she'll be where I'm going."  
Meg gave him a questioning look before he could leave.

"She might be with the chorus."

"I'm not teaching them today."

"Oh."   
Meg's mouth twisted as if she had eaten something off.

"I hope _she's_ happy. I can't believe I tried to urge Ann to become friends with that…"  
She sniffed sharply and glanced at his notes.

"Is that her score?"

M. Reyer nodded darkly.

"The copy that we were working with yesterday seemed to have disappeared." He said tiredly. "I had to go and get another one."

Meg frowned and crossed her arms.

M. Reyer sighed and touched her shoulder.

"I have to get back." He said solemnly. "Tell Ann I'm very sorry, it should've been her."

Meg shook her head and returned the gesture.

"You know the politics in this place as well as I do M. Reyer." She said. "Sometimes, despite listening to what should've been done, or who should've sung the managers bow under politics and to the first Prima Donna…" She hesitated as she remembered her previous train of thought.

"M. Reyer, may I take just another moment of your time please?"

The chorus master frowned and nodded.  
Licking her suddenly dry lips Meg gave him a desperate look.

"Do you… remember everything that has happened here?" She queried hesitantly.  
The old man frowned, not entirely sure what she meant.

"I'm getting old Meg." He said with a small smile. "Sometimes I can't even remember what I had for breakfast. There are so many things…"   
Meg touched her lips with her tongue again.

"I understand but… Twenty years ago… Do you remember… Do you still think of that time?"

Immediately she could see that he knew what she meant.  
M. Reyer's face turned dark as his thoughts moved inward.

"Can we forget?" He queried softly before he gave her a slow look. "I think of him at least once a day Meg, I can't help it. Nor can anybody else. It's a part of this Opera."  
Meg swallowed down the unexpected lump in her throat.

"Do you think he's still around?"

M. Reyer took a long time to consider that question. Finally, after much internal debate he shook his head.

"We should not worry about him if he is Meg." He said softly. "There is nothing left for him here. He is a Ghost…" He smiled and touched her arm.

"Do not fear for young Ann, you won't loose her by his hand."

She could not say anything to that, but the urge to cry was stronger than before.

M. Reyer squeezed her hand softly and left her standing alone in the corridor.

Blinking tears, Meg furiously rubbed them out of her eyes and marched in the opposite direction.

&&&

She gave up looking for Julianne after that and rather vented her inner turmoil into coaching her troupe. She wasn't comfortable with what M. Reyer had said but she also realised that Julianne was well within her right to avoid company if she wanted to.

She wished that she could tell the child that it wasn't M. Reyer's decision to take her from the chorus for this performance, that their chosen candidate earned her position through politics instead of merit.

But in that same breath she knew that she couldn't.

In her own way, Julianne was too naïve to understand the cloak and dagger touch of politics.

And, it wouldn't change anything.

All of them, Julianne, M. Reyer and even she was at the mercy of what the managers decided. Meg did not approve of what they did, but she could not stop it.

&&&

When she returned to her room later that day before supper Julianne was already there, sitting in front of the piano, mimicking a silent song.

She cleared her throat to announce her presence and slipped in next to the younger woman.

"It works better if you actually touch the keys." She said with a small smile as she placed her arm around Julianne's middle.  
The girl blinked and smiled slightly as she carried on.

"I've had enough of music for one day." She said softly, her voice tired.

They sat in a solemn silence as Julianne continued her silent ritual.

When she finally took her hands from the keys Meg gave her a comforting hug and pushed some hair out of her face.  
Her fingers brushed against the younger woman's cheek.

Meg flinched and frowned.

"You're cold." She whispered softly.

Julianne frowned and touched her cheek.

"I didn't move around a lot." She confessed. "And, I forgot my cloak. I'm sorry."

Meg wasn't sure why she was apologizing.

Standing up from behind the piano Meg pulled Julianne up and guided her closer to her so that she could give her a proper hug.

"It's not your fault Julianne." She said softly. "M. Reyer, he did not reject you because of you. It's just…"

She didn't know what to say.

"Politics."


	14. 13 Haunted Eyes

**Chapter 13: Haunted Eyes.**

Teaching Ann turned out to be more of a challenge than he had prepared himself for.

They spend their first day familiarizing themselves with the other on this new interaction level of Teacher and Pupil.

Although he hated admitting it to himself he had completely miscalculated the amount of effort he would have to put into training Ann. When they practiced scales and warm up exercises he completely forgot that she wouldn't be able to read the music from the pages once he presented them to her.

Despite that though, he worked well with her.

In a strange way, it felt as if he had already taught Ann. She knew most of his original warm up exercises, or a variation of it, and caught on quickly when he tried explaining something to her. Upon further inquiry he found out that Ann had never been taught professionally but that she had learned everything she knew about music from her parents.

"My mother loves to sing." Ann had told him. "I always found that it was very sad that she never got the chance to come to the Opera. She taught me everything that I know."  
When she had said this, a brief moment of trepidation had passed over him and he found himself staring at Ann for a very long time.

A thought tugged at the edge of his mind but he quickly quenched it and carried on with their work.

* * *

"I'm going to pick you up later tomorrow morning." Monsieur Erik told her as they stepped back into her room. "I have some things to do and I think that you're aunt is getting suspicious. I don't want to worry her."  
Ann yawned behind her hand and glanced back at him.

"Don't worry about Aunt Meg." She said with a soft laugh. "She's always worried. This quick performance that they threw on her is really troubling her. I feel that she shouldn't worry though, her ballet girls won't let her down."  
Erik chuckled softly and handed her cane back to her.

"She is like her mother."

Ann perked up immediately.

"You knew Madam Giry?" She queried surprised.

She sensed immediately that Erik knew that he had made a mistake.

"We have met." He said slowly. "On occasion. It was a long time ago though, when she was still working in the Opera. I have not seen her around for quite some time."  
Ann nodded thoughtfully and sat down on her bed.

Her finger's caressed the bedspread before she sat back and crossed her legs.

"She's coming back to the Opera next week." Ann said. "She would've been here by now, but she decided on a whim to go and visit a friend just outside of Paris. I'm not sure whether my Aunt is relieved or upset. She misses her mother."

_As do I. _Ann finished for herself but she said or showed nothing.

Monsieur Erik shifted before her.

"That I can understand." He said. "I will be taking my leave. Remember Ann, not a word to anyone. I will see you tomorrow after lunch."

When he left the room Ann let out a long breath and fell to the side.

Curling herself up in a small bundle she yawned and hugged the cane to her chest.

She was exhausted.

Every day Monsieur Erik pushed her to a level which she previously thought was unreachable.

He was a good teacher but insistent and in a way unrelenting. Unlike Monsieur Reyer, who she thought was humoring her sometimes, he did not let her get away with the smallest mistake.

The music they were studying was difficult as well.  
The chorus piece was different than anything she had ever sung before. Although she didn't voice her opinion out loud, she felt as if it could stand as a solo part.

Shaking her head, reminding herself that they only had four days left she closed her eyes and fell asleep almost immediately.

* * *

Meg Giry slowly walked down the corridor, feeling as if she was being dragged forward by a force and strength compelled only for the yearning for her bed. Time had become her enemy and it was with a feeling of absolute panic that she looked upon the next few days. There was so much that she still had to do and seemingly no time to do it at all. She rubbed her eyes and turned the corner.

A shadow leaped up before her eyes.

Meg let out a surprised cry and fell back against the wall. Looking around surprised and wild eyes she whipped her gaze in every direction before breathing a sigh of relief.

It was just in her imagination. She consoled herself. It wasn't real, she was only imagining things.

Laughing at herself, realizing that she had to go check up on Ann and get to bed herself, she left the safety of the wall and carried on down to her apartment.

* * *

Chuckling softly he mentally berated himself for scaring Little Meg.

She was a grown woman by now with a sharp mind that could easily see through the illusion of his shadow. Yet, tonight she was also devilishly tired which gave him a certain advantage.

Despite everything in their past he had enjoyed watching her grow up and that was perhaps one of the reason's why he never released her mother from her promise. In doing that, he would indivertibly be giving up his responsibility over her.

In times when he had had precious little to cling to that had been a reason alone to stay and come back to the opera house.

Deep down though, he knew that it was also just an excuse.

Stopping amidst the walls of the Opera Populaire he took a moment to reconsider his next course of action. Seeing Meg Giry had served its purpose, as it reminded him that he would have to be cautious. Although he doubted that she would mind, his next Act would have to be subtle. He knew that she still looked for him in every accident that happened around the old Opera house. Considering their history he wasn't surprised when he saw her down in the passages to his lair when Ann first arrived.

Whether their bond was by blood or friendship, Little Meg was fiercly protective over Ann. In the past few days he had watched the lines of worry on her face grow deeper when she interacted with the uncooperative Ann. The girl wasn't making it obvious that she was hiding something but her continuous sidestepping on topic concerning her days events were beginning to alert the woman.

There was, unfortunately, only so many places Ann could go unassisted.

Turning around, remembering what he had to do, he felt the mood that made him scare Meg Giry returned. She wasn't going to be his only victim tonight.  
There was one other girl in the Opera who had a private room to herself.

It had taken him two days to rig up the mechanism.  
Although he refused to admit it, some of his old skills had become a bit rusty over the years and it had taken several failed attempts to get the casting of the light just right.

Now, he knew that everything was perfect as he made a final adjustment to the small mirror and produced the fake human skull from beneath his cloak. If he was not mistaken, these were still some props from the Opera, _Hannibal_.

A shadow of a smile passed behind the mask.  
That Opera held a lot of pleasant memories.

With a touch of humor he found himself remembering Signora Charlotta Giudicelli. She had been quite a character and in a way the Opera didn't feel quite the same without her. True, he had tried to get her fired but it was all for a good cause.

No woman had ever earned the title 'Prima Donna' more than she.

Shaking himself he finished rigging the skull and lid a candle underneath it.

Studying his work he smiled and left the forgotten room.

* * *

There was water dripping on her face.

The sleeping figure groaned softly and turned on her side, wiping the moisture from her forehead. Sluggish and disorientated because she had only just fallen asleep she pulled the covers over her head and tried to fall asleep again.

She was just drifting off when a cricket started chirping instantly below her bed.

The young woman opened her eyes for the first time and sat up irritated.

A low scream escaped her throat when she came face to face with a hovering, disembodied skull.

Fire danced in the place where its eyes should've been.  
Screaming again she flew up out of bed and fled from the room.

* * *

He moved quickly, immediately stopping the mechanism of the small box he had with him. Pulling back the small tube he had used to wake Sophia he hurried back to the room, turned the one mirror around and blew out the candle.

* * *

Sophia Carre was sobbing hysterically.

Not sure whether she should be irritated or sympathetic Meg Giry walked with her down the corridor, carrying the only candle they had between them.

"It was probably only a nightmare Sophia." She said exasperated. "I can assure you, there are no such things as spirits in this Opera house. No matter what my ballet girls say, it's just a story that has been used to frighten people like yourself for decades."  
Sophia shook as she clung to the other woman's arm.

"But I saw it Madam Giry!" She insisted with a high-pitched voice. "It was there, hovering before me! I could see its skull with its eyes of fire."  
_Those eyes that burn…_  
Meg shook the voice from her head.

"Now my dear that proves to me that it was just a nightmare." She said, trying to sound gentle. "I made up the story of the floating skull when I was still living here with my mother. I used it to scare my friend who believed in things such as spirits and angles. The story got out though and its been making its rounds ever since. There's been no real sighting…"

"But I saw it Madam Giry!"

"Enough!" The older woman snapped suddenly. "Sophia pull yourself together, you are a sensible girl!"

They had stopped just outside her room. The door still stood up open, a tell tale sign of how quickly the girl had fled.

Sophia pulled back a little and sniffed miserably.

Meg sighed and rubbed her brow.

"I'm sorry child." She apologized. "I'm just tired, like you." She glanced into the room and went inside. Lighting a few of the candles that was standing around she looked around the room, not sure what she was looking for.

She had a moment's of fright when she saw a ghostly specter against the wall but immediately felt very foolish when she realized that it was only a mirror.

She turned back to Sophia who was still lingering in the doorway.

"There's nothing here." She said.  
The girl shifted.

"There was a cricket underneath my bed."

Keeping herself from sighing with exasperation Meg went down on her knees next to the bed and poked and prodded around in the dust.

"I think it's left as well." She said. "Now, what do you want to do, do you want to try to sleep again or do you want to sleep with Ann? I'm sure she won't mind."  
At the mention of her ward Sophia's back straightened a little.

"No Madam I'm fine." She said. "I… I guess that it was just a dream."

Meg nodded and went over to the girl to give her a reassuring hug.

"You're still welcome to come to our room again." She said. "Sleep well Sophia."  
Taking her candle, Meg returned to her room – leaving the young woman alone.

* * *

He felt sorry for Little Meg for being dragged into this as well. He thought as he turned the mirror back again. None the less, he couldn't help but feel satisfied with himself.

He waited a few moments before he opened the hatch behind the room's mirror again. Making sure all his other mirrors were in place he waited for about half and hour before he lid the candles underneath the skull again. When he didn't hear Sophia he realized that she had either fallen asleep again or she was still lying with her eyes closed.

He could fix that quickly enough.

Looking around he saw an old dusty vase standing on one of the broken pieces of furniture in the closed room.

He walked over to it idly, picked it up and studied it. It didn't seem to be very expensive.

Lifting it high above his head he threw it down on the floor.  
From within the other room there was a satisfying startled gasp and then a blood curling scream.  
Despite himself he laughed, he could do this all night.

* * *

This time Ann came with them.

"Sophia," she said quietly, sweeping her cane in front of her, "there's no such thing as ghosts love. We can promise you that."

"Nobody asked you to comment!" The stricken child sobbed. "Madam Giry it was there again! I could hear it laughing! It was such a horrible sound _oh!_"

One of the other doors opened to reveal M. Reyer.

What little hair he had left stood in all directions as he squinted at them in the dark.

"What's going on Megan?" He queried. "I thought I heard somebody scream and now you're here…"  
Meg shook her head tiredly.

"Sophia's been having nightmares." She said. "I'm just taking her back to her room, Ann's probably going to stay with her tonight. My apologies for waking you."  
M. Reyer frowned.

"Nightmares?" He asked surprised. "Why my dear girl, about what?"  
Sophia stomped her foot angrily, making Ann jump who hadn't expected it.

"I wasn't sleeping!" She exclaimed. "I saw a ghost! It wasn't a nightmare!" Her tone of voice threatened them with tears again. "And Ann is not staying with me in my room!"  
Meg snorted and gave M. Reyer an apologetic look.

"Either she's staying with you or you're staying with her." The woman said sharply. "I will not tolerate this all night Sophia. My sincere apologies M. Reyer."

The old man shook his head sympathetically.

"That's okay Meg." He said softly. "These things happen. Good night."

He returned to his room and closed the door.

Meg gave Sophia a sharp look.

"Unless you want to wake up somebody else," she said coldly, "I suggest you keep your voice down."  
Sophia sobbed softly.

"You're all ghastly." She whispered. "My father will hear of this."  
Meg led them back to the abandoned room.

"Frankly my dear," she said dryly, "I don't care. Here, keep the candles on this time." She went around the room and relit the candles. Her voice softened slightly. "Ann, would you mind staying here?"  
The blind girl shook her head. "I don't mind." She softly. "If there's a couch I'll sleep there…"

"You will not." Sophia cut her off. "I'm fine on my own. I don't need your help."

Meg snorted and shook her head.

"Sophia, Ann will stay here with you tonight or, otherwise I don't want to see you at my door again. Please child, you can't keep waking everybody up with your fancies…"  
Sophia said something just out of her earshot but Ann seemed to have picked it up because she straightened and glared at the girl.  
Meg ignored it.

"What do you think?"

Sophia shifted and finally dropped her head.

"I won't bother you again Madam Giry." She said softly. "Ann doesn't have to stay here."  
Meg gave her a long look then nodded curtly.

"Good." She said. "Ann, come here dear – could you take me back? I'm leaving this candle here for Sophia as well."

Ann nodded dutifully and, after giving Sophia a final look, left the room with her Aunt.

* * *

Half dosing against the wall he idly played with his cricket box, listening to the girl toss and turn in the room.

Reflecting on the nights events he decided that this was as much a failure as it had been a success. He had successfully managed to keep Sophia from getting a good night's rest but, it had also disturbed Ann's sleep.

Yawning he heard Sophia get up, walk around the room to search for the cricket, and get back into bed.

He was going to have to be even more subtle about this.

He smiled.

What a challenge.


	15. 14 Against the Wall

**Chapter 14: Against the Wall. **

_The last note echoed through the chamber. _

_He stared at her in the small boat as if seeing her for the first time, savouring the ease with which she climbed to the potential heights he set for her, drinking her grace and absorbing her pale beauty.  
_You are wrong Christine. _He silently mused to himself as he threw off his cloak. _It is you. You are the Angel of Music.

_My angel…_

_&&&_

Ann's pale cheeks were flushed with concentration as she allowed the last note of her part to die down.  
The shivers that travelled up his spine were only partly from the broken fragment of memory that had delicately lay claim to his mind.

He stood up and slowly approached the singer, clapping his hands together briefly to show her the approval she couldn't see on his face.

"Ann, that was…" With Music, mortal words where so insufficient. "Perfect."

Ann was taking a moment to collect herself, her blue eyes strangely out of focus as she tried to return from the place singing send her.

"I…" She cleared her throat and smiled. "I take it that you… Approve?"

He reached her side and carefully took her hand.

"I will say no more than I have already."

Her blue eyes focused on him as she smiled shyly. Enclosing both her hands around his she brought his fingers to her face and kissed them.

"_Merci_ Monsieur." She said softly "_Merci beaucoup_."  
Emotions surged within him, rendering him speechless.  
_You never thanked me my Angel. _

_Never. _

Hesitantly he pulled Ann closer and placed his arm around her. When she allowed her head to rest against his chest he felt her place her ear over his heart. Ann closed her eyes and listened, almost breathing in his presence.

The emotions were overwhelming.  
Hugging her close briefly he pushed her away to arms length and carefully reached out to push some stray pieces of hair out of her face.

"We are done here." He said softly. "Ann, you have outdone yourself."   
The young woman swallowed and smiled.

"I am merely the instrument Monsieur." She said with a soft laugh. "I am…"

She smiled and hesitantly reached up with her hand as if to touch his face but she paused half way and allowed her hand to drop again.

She sighed softly and smiled at him.

She half bend down to pick up her cane, but quickly remembered that it was still in her room.

"I keep forgetting." She mused, more to break the overwhelming silence between them than to alert him to her thoughts.

It took him a few precious moments to order his thoughts.

"Come on." He said, keeping his tone light. "It is late, much later than I would've liked. You have to promise me that you will sleep well tonight Ann. I do not want you to be tired tomorrow."

Ann laughed softly and sniffed as she allowed him to guide her over to the horse.

"I doubt whether I will be." She said with a smile. "When should I go to Monsieur Reyer?"

He did not answer immediately as he quickly tacked up the animal and allowed her to tighten the girth.  
He did not help her up but rather allowed her to find the stirrup and swing onto the horse herself.

"Tomorrow." He said finally. "And Ann, I would like you to go to the managers please, not Monsieur Reyer."  
He did not see the expression on her face as he quickly rechecked the girth before mounting.

Ann did not look back at him but rather kept her face forward, her blind gaze fixed at a point just beyond the horse's ears.  
He could sense her disapproval and unease but, true to her promise in the beginning, she didn't question his judgement.

He picked up the reins and urged the stallion into the water, the animal did it with ease now and Ann, knowing what to expect hardly flinched.

He knew that she wouldn't approve of this choice.

"They have more authority in the matter Ann." The words formed themselves before he could object. "And, it would be easier to fool them because they are not aware of the group's constant comings and goings."

Ann shifted in front of him.

"Fool them?"

"You have to pretend that you were in a place where you weren't seen."  
Ann sniffed softly and nodded.

He felt her fidget with the horse's mane.

"What am I suppose to tell them?"

He gave her waist a reassuring squeeze.

"I'll tell you."

&&&

Sophia Carre was a nervous wreck.

Monsieur Reyer and the woman who had helped him, Madam Justine Schönberg, watched the girl bend over her food in a praying motion. Her hands were shaking as she kept clasping and unclasping them. Before long, she rested her forehead against her fist.

"I can't eat this." She said in a tearful tone. "It tastes… Horrible. It really tastes horrible."

She was so tired; she couldn't even give them a decent sob.

The two other people in the room shared a worried look.

They knew Sophia well enough to expect the occasional temper tantrum or handle her Prima Donna like attitude but, this was something completely different.

She was truly upset.

Mme Justine took a soft breath as she shook her head at the old chorus master.

"I don't think she slept at all last night." She said in a hushed tone. "And, she told me not to tell you but she didn't keep her breakfast down either."  
M. Reyer tried in vain to still the mounting sense of panic inside him.

"The same thing happened yesterday. Her practice session with Signora Romano was terrible." He said softly. "I did not think that she would be the sort to crack under pressure…"  
The woman gave him a worried look.

"I'm not sure that's the problem."

M. Reyer frowned at her but she didn't offer any further explanation and rather asked:

"Do you think she'll be able to perform tonight?"

The old man shook his head and rubbed what was left of his hair.

"I think I better go and talk to the managers." He said finally. "Just… Try and get her to eat something at least, don't tell her yet."

The woman nodded and slowly went over to the girl.

"What's wrong love?" She asked in a gentle tone.  
M. Reyer paused in the doorway and turned around to listen to Sophia's response.  
The girl hadn't even looked up when Mme Justine slipped in next to her and motioned to the food with shaking hands.

"I'm sorry." She managed. "But this is very bitter Madam. I can't… It will make me sick."  
Mme Justine sighed softly and scanned the barely touched plate of food. She picked out a piece of carrot and tasted it.

She frowned slightly and gave the girl a worried look.

"Sophia, there is nothing wrong with this." She said softly. "Given it is a bit cold now but…"

M. Reyer didn't wait around to hear Sophia's reaction. Unable to quell his mounting feelings of trepidation he set off to the managers' office.

&&&

Standing by the curtains of the main stage, Ann once again realised that trying to appreciate ballet was a lost cause for her.

When she was younger, her Aunt and her mother had tried to explain the art to her by miming her arms and body in a few of the delicate moves. She appreciated the gesture, but never had the heart to tell them that she could still not picture any form of dancing amidst the rhythmic hollow thuds of human feet on polished wood.

She still appreciated its place in music, even if it was with a touch of secret bitterness because she would never fully be able to understand it.

She reached out and touched the elbow next to her.

"Aunt Meg?"

Her touch was returned.

"What is it?" The woman's voice was distracted.

Ann could clearly picture her watching every move her girls made.  
She smiled slightly.

"Is it good?"

Mme Giry hesitated, probably to look at her, before Ann sensed her smile and felt an arm slipped around her waist.

"_Oui."_ The smaller woman said softly. "I am very pleased with them. They came through in the end."

Ann laughed softly and nodded.

"They won't disappoint you."

She felt her aunt tense a little. Despite the music she was suddenly aware of an awkward silence between them. Ann shifted uncomfortably and was just about to say something when her aunt finally spoke.

"I'm sorry I did Julianne."

The younger woman blinked and gave her Aunt a curious look.

"What do you mean?" She queried softly, hoping also that her hushed tone would remind the woman not to use her real name so publicly.

Mme Giry shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry if I let you down," she continued softly, "I could've tried to get you into the show in some way…"  
Ann shook her head quickly and hugged the woman.

"_S'il vous plaît_ Aunt Meg!" She said quickly. "Please, don't start. It doesn't matter. It wasn't about being in the show, it was…" She shook her head and laughed softly. "I guess it just was."

She turned her face towards the stage. Trying to judge how much time had passed since she had lunch Ann realised that it was about time she faced the managers.

"In any case," she said softly, "don't give up on me yet, I still have one card to play."

She felt her aunt's surprise and had to smile.

"I'll explain everything later!" She said as she turned to give the woman a quick hug before she could say anything. "I have to go, I'll see you later."

She squeezed her aunt's shoulder and took a second to orientate herself.

"What do you mean Julianne?" Her aunt asked next to her but she just shook her head and smiled.

"I have to go Aunt Meg."

&&&

The Ancient Chorus Master was angrier than they had ever seen him.

"Do you not understand?" He asked with short, sharp syllables. "Sophia Carré is in no condition to sing! The poor child is a wreck, she has been crying all morning, she won't eat and she hasn't slept at all. Do you want to ruin us completely? Signora Romano will not sing with that child!"

He had long since stood up from the chair they had offered him in the beginning and was now facing them over Monsieur Giles André's desk.

The two managers watched him with a touch of caution but also with enough irritation to make them stand their ground.

"You said that you can teach the child!" M. Andre snapped irritated.

M. Reyer shook his head. "I said I could teach her." He snapped. "But firstly, I'm not the Phantom and…"

"Monsieur please! This is no time for jokes!"

He had forgotten that _that_ word had become almost taboo around the two managers.

M. Reyer rubbed his brow tiredly and sat down again. He couldn't remember when he had stood up.

"Pardon." He said half heartedly. "What I'm saying Messieurs, is that Sophia – in the condition that she is now – will not be able to perform. I said that I could teach her, and I did with Mme. Justine's help. She's not brilliant, but she would've sufficed. But that doesn't change a thing; Sophia will not make it on that stage."

The two managers looked at him mixed expressions.

He could see that M. André was furious; of late the man had developed an unreasonable and very unhealthy temper. He doubted whether it was very good for a man with his condition. He kept looking back to his partner, half expecting him to back him up with his argument.

Monsieur Richard Firmin was quieter as he stared at him. M. Reyer could tell that the man was trying to figure things out for himself.

Seeing that he wasn't going to get a response from his fellow manager M. André sat down as well.

"Do you know who Sophia Carré's father is?" He queried coldly. "You do know that we were told _explicitly_ to put her in this role."

M. Reyer nodded sharply, once again feeling his old anger and disgust boil up inside of him.

"_Oui._" He said sharply. "Do you also know what an embarrassment it would be to her father if she went on stage in her condition? I don't think he would praise you for it."

They glared at each other in cold silence.

"Have you trained another girl for this part?" M. Firmin broke his own silence finally. "I mean is there another who can sing this or do we have to take this song from the program."

M. Reyer gave the manager a frosty look.

"You _explicitly_ told me not to."

When they shifted uncomfortably M. Reyer took his chance to say what he had been brooding over for the past two weeks.

"This would not have happened if you allowed me to pick the child that I wanted to."

M. André snorted.

"Who?" He queried. "Meg Giry's girl? Do you know what a laugh that would've been?"

M. Reyer stood up sharply.

"Less of laugh than this is!" He snapped. "Ann is a beautiful girl, with more talent than I have seen in a very long time. That is all that matters or have you forgotten that!"

M. Firmin held up his hand quickly, trying to still the old man.

"André didn't mean it that way Monsieur." He said quickly. "It's just… You know that we were also asked to keep Ann from the performance. Sophia doesn't like her and her father…"  
The look of disgust in M. Reyer's face was enough to make him stop what he was going to say.

M. Reyer sat back almost as if his legs couldn't carry him anymore.

"It was a sad day in this Opera's history," he began gravely, "when our managers allowed young girls to dictate their actions."

Both men glared at him furiously.

"Do not judge us M. Reyer!" M. Firmin snapped. "We are doing what we must to keep this Opera alive! Do not forget that!"

The Ancient Chorus Master shook his head slowly.

"I do not." He said slowly in an apologetic tone. "But Messieurs, sometimes there are other ways of keeping this place alive than…" He sighed and shook his head.

"None of this matters." He tried gently. "No matter what we say, we still don't have a girl to sing the role with Signora Romano."

M. Andre looked as if he wanted to say something else but a careful hand from M. Firmin on his shoulder made the man keep his thoughts to himself.

Instead he shook his head and let out a slow breath.

"That does pose a problem, doesn't it?"

&&&

She hadn't counted on the fact that she might not find the office again.

Disorientated Ann moved against a solid wall and listened for any sound that might tell her where she was exactly.  
She knew how to get back to the stage but, she knew that if she turned up there again her guardian would question her to no end.

Meg Giry really worried too much.

Rubbing the small angel on her cane Ann sighed softly as the uncomfortable feeling in her stomach grew.  
She was not use to being nervous.

Realising where her mistake was Ann quickly turned around and, keeping her one hand against the wall ran back the way she came.

&&&

The brooding silence between the three men was rudely interrupted by a knock on the door.

M. Firmin who was still the only person standing, immediately went to open it. M. André watched him as he went, half shaking his head.

"I can almost bet money on the fact that this will be something else that went wrong." He remarked in general. "Why are we doing this to ourselves Richard?"  
The man hesitated before he opened the door and half smiled to try and cheer up his partner. "Because it's more fun than the junk business."

"Scrap metal Richard. Scrap metal."

Despite his mood M. Reyer chuckled softly.

When M. Firmin opened the door he revealed a surprise that nobody expected.

Ann Leroux's hand was raised in mid knock. She blinked and took an uncomfortable step back.

"Ah, Messieurs?" She queried hesitantly when nobody answered and moved her cane back to her one hand.  
M. Reyer made a quick motion to the two men that he wasn't there.

They nodded in acceptance as M. Firmin opened the door wider.

"Ann Leroux." He said tiredly. "With what can we help you?"  
With their last meeting still fresh in his mind Richard Firmin realised that, for his own conscious, he would have to be very patient with her.  
Ann hesitated as she turned her head slightly to the side to listen.

"Monsieur Firmin?" She queried. "Monsieur, I… do you have time to see me? I have to ask something."  
Her cheeks were flushed as if she had been running.

M. Firmin glanced back to M. André in a silent question.  
The old manager had a defeated look on his face as he nodded.

"Come in child." He said impatiently. "You might as well, we're not busy with anything pressing."  
The young woman hesitated as she tried to puzzle out the emotions behind that statement.

"It will only take a moment." She said - her tone mildly defensive.

She slowly stepped into the room, sweeping her cane in front of her and keeping her other hand at her hip to keep her from bumping into the door frame.

She glanced back restlessly when M. Firmin closed the door behind her.

"Do you want to sit down?" The tall manager asked.

Ann shook her head and fidgeted with her cane.

"Messieurs." her head briefly tilted in M. Reyer's direction as if she sensed him. "I would once again like to ask you permission to sing in tonight's performance."

There was a shocked silence in the room.

"Ann…" M. Firmin started but the young woman held up a sharp hand.

"Let me finish." She snapped. "When I was walking through the Opera at the beginning of this, I heard one of the chorus members practice solo. I've been listening to her ever since. I can do this Monsier, please. I'll sing quietly, just – let me do this please."

The silence became uncomfortably.

"Solo practice?" M. André queried. "Child, none of the chorus have been practicing on their own."   
Ann hesitated and became visibly uncomfortable.

"But I heard her." She said softly. "Honestly…"  
M. Reyer shifted for the first time, causing Ann to jump slightly as she was alerted to his presence.

"Who Ann?" He queried gently.  
The girl swallowed. "M. Reyer." She said as if to confirm to herself that he's there. "I don't know. It was a girl, and sometimes a woman. And you. Singing voices are different than speaking voices, I can not distinguish…"

The three men looked at each other. M. Firmin felt a very strange feeling that he wasn't use to.  
A touch of hope.

"Well, let's see what you have." He said. "This can't do any harm."

Ann swallowed and cleared her throat.

&&&

M. André and M. Firmin watched the two people as they hurried down the corridor.

"This is a stroke of luck Ann!" The Chief Répétiteur was saying. "The part you were listening to, the part you learned it wasn't a part of the chorus…"  
The two managers stood very close to each other as their voices faded.

"A stroke of luck or a stroke of genius?" M. Firmin asked quietly.  
M. André watched as the two people disappeared around the corner.

"It depends on who's you're referring to." He replied dryly. "We might have a problem Richard."  
The tall man glanced down at his friend.

"Or we might just be paranoid."  
They moved back into the office but kept standing around, restlessly.

"Do you think it is a coincidence that she was able to sing the part of the duet with Signora Romano, when our other singer became ill?" M. André was the first to voice the question outright.

M. Firmin just looked at his friend and went to the one cabinet. There was a clink of glass as he took out two glasses and poured them each a decent amount of Scotch.

"On the very day of the performance?" He queried. "When we don't have time to ask questions or question her thoroughly? When nobody can either confirm or deny that they saw her? When she sang it as perfectly as she did? When even M. Reyer is clearly shocked at the quality of her voice or the style with which she did this?"  
He gave his friend a pointed look as he handed him the glass.

"Of course Giles, miracles do happen."

The other manager took the glass and stared at it. He stared at the brown liquid for a moment then gave a short, hysterical laugh.

"I'm going to move the people out of Box 5 Richard." He tipped his head back and drank a reasonable about of the liquor.

M. Firmin saluted him with his glass.

"I think we should."


	16. 15 Before an Audience

**Chapter 15: Before an Audience. **

The eerie sound of the orchestra warming up sang above the commotion in the room.

The lights were already off and almost everybody was seated.

For once, almost every seat was full and every boxed filled except for Box 5, which was apparently closed off due to maintenance problems.   
A sure sign to every one that this old building was in trouble.

If rumour had it correct this was the managers' last, desperate attempt to stir up interest in the Opera and the crowd reflected that.  
Potential buyers, debtors and patrons alike sat in the audience, their anticipation and curiosity mounting to see what the managers had to offer them in this once magnificent _Opera Populaire. _

The orchestra stopped abruptly as the two managers slowly made their way onto the stage. As always, they seemed most uncomfortable to be in the limelight and Monsieur Giles André looked particularly nervous as he surveyed the boxes.

"Ladies and Gentleman we thank you for coming this evening." Monsieur Richard Firmin opened. "Your presence here is much appreciated and we hope that you enjoy the evening. Please, if there is anything you need afterwards do not hesitate to approach me or my partner, Monsieur Giles André. We are at your service."  
He gave his friend a quick nudge.

"Ye…ye… Yes, thank you Richard." The other manager stuttered. "We… We would also just like to… to apologise for a… a slight misnomer on your p… p… programs. The… The… The girl who will be accompanying Signora Romano will… will… will not be Mademoiselle Sophia Carré but… but… but Mademoiselle Ann LeRoux. Thank you."

A round of applause erupted as the curtains opened.

The two managers fled off of the stage, once again each of them glancing nervously at the boxes.

&&&

Ann was in one of the dressing rooms, humming softly as she ran her fingers through her hair. The hairdresser, running late because M. Reyer had kept her busy for longer than he had planned, had quickly left the room to get something.

All the other people had already left, bustled off by Mme. Giry and M. Reyer.

Ann was grateful for the brief moment of solitude.

Their constant questions did nothing for her nerves.

"Embrace the butterflies."  
She blinked startled and turned in the direction of the voice.

"Monsieur Erik?"  
There was the now familiar shift of fabric to her right and, before long she sensed him next to her.

Gloved hands were placed on her shoulders and the silence between them stretched as he probably studied her reflection in the mirror.

"You look beautiful."  
Ann blushed and licked her lips nervously.

"I wouldn't know." She said sheepishly.  
As with dancing, visual beauty was lost on her, even her own.  
Monsieur Erik chuckled softly, almost warmly.

"You are." He said. "Trust me."

Ann turned around so that she could face him, a warm smile on her face.

"Always."

He paused briefly then:

"Here."  
Ann hesitated, unsure of what to do. Before long she felt his hand on hers as he turned her palm upwards and draped something light over her fingers.

Concentrating hard to identify the soft material she enclosed her fingers around it and gave him a curious look.

"Ask the hair dresser to put it in your hair tonight." Monsieur Erik said; his voice still soft. "It's a black ribbon."

Ann smiled and brought it to her nose. Sure enough, she could detect a slight trace of his cologne on it.

He stepped back.

"Will you be watching tonight?"

She felt his smile as he touched her hair and ran his fingers through her curls.

"Of course." Slowly, he leaned over and kissed her hair. "I have to go."

&&&

Meg Giry watched from the wings, her eyes focused on her girls. Judging by the applause that had accompanied the previous performance the audience enjoyed the show.

She snorted softly.  
They better, for all the effort they had put into it.

She glanced down into the orchestra pit to see that M. Reyer was, as always, completely engrossed in his conducting.

Her stomach twisted in a knot.  
She did not appreciate the fact that he trained Ann behind her back and felt irritated with the girl for not telling her.

Something about that story didn't sit right.

She shifted from her position a bit so that she could see who was in the seats.

There was something she had to know.

&&&

Clutching his wife's hand M. Firmin leaned over to M. André.

The man was very pale as he anxiously surveyed the crowd and the boxes. Richard didn't know why the smaller man bothered; he was tactfully avoiding looking at the box he _should_ be worried about.

"Please relax André." He said, trying to get his partner to calm down. "Nobody has died yet."

The portly man gave him a warning look.

"That's not funny Richard."

"Sorry André."

Both their wives snapped open their fans at exactly the same time.

Richard Firmin couldn't help but snort softly.  
_Women._

Despite everything he was rather enjoying the evening.

_Now if only they could get more patrons for the Opera._

Or better yet.  
_Sell it._

Of course he had learned not to expect too much from life.

There was a commotion behind them.

The two families in the box gasped and turned around surprised.

Mademoiselle Megan Giry waved off the attendant at the door with an irritated gesture. She had become, by strange default, _Madam_ Giry after her mother left. They had been disappointed to find that she deserved that title in every sense of the word.  
She was just like her mother.

Her eyes were sharper than usual as she rounded on them, seemingly oblivious that she had interrupted them.

"Why is Box 5 not being used?"  
The two men winched despite themselves.

"Please keep your voice down Meg." M. André tried to deflect her wrath. "You will be heard!"

Her pale mouth thinned as she pulled herself up to her full height, which wasn't much.

"I want to know why Box 5 is not being used!" She hissed under her breath. "M. Reyer told me that you had used all the boxes. Why not _that_ one?"

The two mangers glanced at each other and stood up to take the tempered ballet mistress outside.

She allowed herself to be escorted to the hall but she wasn't going to allow them to get away with not answering her question.

"Tell me." She insisted when they were alone.

M. Firmin sighed as he looked down at her.

"As a safety precaution Megan." He said softly.

Her sharp eyes rounded on them.

"_For who?" _

The two men stood very still.

"For all of us Meg." M. Firmin tried at exactly the same time M. André snapped.

"You should know."

The woman stood back, almost as if she had been struck.

"_He's_ gone." She insisted. "He has no business with Ann."

There was something in her eyes when she said it though, a strange wild fear they had seen last when she was still a young woman.

M. Firmin stood in quickly.

"Now Meg." He said softly. "We're not saying anything and it's important that we do not jump to conclusions."

The look vanished and was replaced by an even more searing gaze.

"You seem to have."

There was a tense silence as the three regarded each other.

Finally Meg Giry pulled herself up with a sniff.

"I'll find out who's behind this." She declared and stormed off without another word.

M. André rubbed his brow as he glanced at his partner who seemed ready to follow her.

"Rather her than us Richard." He said as he pulled his friend back in their box's direction. "Please, let's go back. Things are going well, it's not worth it."

&&&

The program was finally coming to a close.

He shifted uncomfortably and allowed his eyes to drift over the audience once more.

It was always interesting to see who attended these formalities.

New money and old money sat mixed in the seats around him.

He glanced up at some of the boxes.

Such a waste of time.

Monsieur Françoise Jacques Mackenzie had never fancied music. His family always believed that he was tone deaf which was most probably true.

He could never make out any sense between the jumble of sounds and did not appreciate it when anybody opened their mouths other than for talking.

Despite popular belief there was also not a lot of money in music, which effectively rendered it useless in his books.

But, since he was a child he had been taught and forced to attend these social events.

"_It's not about the music."_ His father, who also didn't appreciate Opera, had told him countless times. _"It's about the people. We come here to see who's who and to make sure that people see us. That, my boy, is what life is about." _

An important thing for a man who had come from Scotland as a young boy with nothing more than the clothes on his back and a head full of ideas.

In that he admired his father.  
The man could draw blood from a stone.

He settled back and, for courtesy's sake, took his escort's hand.

Despite it all, it was always interesting to see how the people who owed him money squandered away their supposed fortunes.

"This is the last performance on the program." The woman next to him said softly. "Signora Romano will sing again Françoise."  
He looked up, feigning interested.

"This is where the Carré's daughter sings right?"

His companion laughed. "_Non _Monsieur." She said as she leaned over to him. "They said in the beginning that Sophia Carré will not be singing. I spoke to them before hand, she is ill."

He raised an eyebrow, silently thanking the fact that this was almost finally over.

"What a shame." He said. "I have heard her sing before, she is very good." As an after though he added:

"Who will be doing it now?"  
The woman paused.

"Ann LeRoux." She recalled. "I have never heard of her. Monsieur Carré is…"  
His attention faded away from the conversation.  
It wasn't anybody of interest then.

He idly watched as the Prima Donna, Signora Shannon Romano, led a young dark haired woman onto the stage.

A strange procedure, he reflected, usually it was done the other way around.

He studied her in idle boredom.

From afar he could not see her features very clearly but he could immediately determine that she was a pretty girl, not too tall, but not too short and definitively not too stout.

Although he could not assert its quality he could hear that her voice was strong.

He sighed and sat back against the back of the chair.  
All in all though, not _too_ interesting.

His attention wandered back to the crowd.

"…blind girl."  
He blinked out of his reverie and looked at his companion.

"What did you say?"

She gave him a disapproving look and turned back to the show.

"I said that she doesn't sing half bad for a blind girl." She said. "I know that the Carré's are upset that Sophia didn't get to do this but, I don't think the Opera went wrong with this young _féminine_."

He was still gaping at her.

"You said she is blind?" He looked to the stage, suddenly cursing the fact that he did not have a box. "May I borrow your binoculars?"

She relinquished them without an argument.

"Yes, I spoke to Mme. Carré before hand. They are not pleased with this arrangement."

"What did you say her name was again?"  
He focused in on the stage.

"Ann LeRoux."  
A smile slowly spread to the corners of his mouth.

"_Really?"   
_This girl wasn't so uninteresting after all.


	17. 16 Given Gifts

**Chapter 16: Given Gifts.**

A warm smile touched the sides of the mask as he watched her.

With the assistance of the manager and Signora Romano, Ann glided through the crowd, her manners and etiquette near perfection as she made small talk.

Watching her interact with the patron and guests alike he was once again struck by how little he knew of her. Ann LeRoux had seemingly guided into his life without a past, an uncertain present and unpredictably future.

This was a surprising discovery for him, but something which surprised him even more was when he realised that he was quite content to keep it so.

Shifting from his position his eyes followed Ann as she made her way through the people. He was interested from a political perspective to see who interacted with her.

Most of the attention went to Signora Romano of course, but those patrons who could not get an opening to talk to the Prima Donna were quite quick to single out Ann.

With a colder smile he wondered how many of them knew that she was not apart of their perfect little world.

The Carré's certainly knew.

He watched them, standing bitterly to the side, making conversation amongst themselves. He wasn't surprised to see that young Sophia was not with them.

He was about to turn his attention away from the Carré's when he saw another figure approach them.

He raised an interested eyebrow and studied Monsieur Françoise Jacques Mackenzie idle over to the small family. He wasn't very surprised with the interaction. According to some of his sources the Mackenzie and Carré families had been business partner since Monsieur Mackenzie's father's rise to financial power.

His son had, for the past decade, used his father's assets to become a discrete debtor to Paris's rich and famous.

He shifted and studied the handsome middle aged man. The only thing the man had retained from his heritage was a fierce temper and a surname, rumour had, he hated.

The man's blue eyes studied young Ann as she was intercepted by her aunt and taken across the room. He half expected the fair haired man to move over to her but he kept his distance with a small smile.

Obviously she wasn't worthy his company.  
He shook his head and smiled to himself before he turned his full attention back to Ann and her aunt.

The older woman had a familiar insistent look in her eyes that reminded him of her mother.

Megan Giry looked ready to force every bit of information out of Ann.

Feeling a touch of trepidation, he moved off quickly.

He didn't want the woman to talk to Ann just yet.

&&&

Feeling puzzled and disorientated Ann allowed her aunt to lead her away from the main crowd. She was grateful for the excuse to get away but something in the way her aunt held onto her arm reminded her of her youth when she had been conned into doing some act of mischief by her younger brothers.

It didn't bother her though, Ann felt as if she was wrapped in a cloak of jubilation.

Nothing could touch her.

_I did it._ She told herself over and over again. _I sang before an audience. I showed them. I did it._

She didn't know how she had managed to keep her pose before all of the people at the banquet. There had been a lump in her throat ever since she left the stage.

Her thoughts turned inward as she smiled softly.

She owed him, she realised.

Monsieur Erik had given her the chance to show these people that she could do what they can.  
She did not care for the brief moment of fame that this brought her, nor did she care for the attention or the flattering praise. She knew that by tomorrow or the next day, in their world, she will be forgotten.

A face with a voice without a name.

They will able to forget her, but she knew that she would never be able to forget them.

She laughed softly, and felt her aunt's grip increase on her arm.

"This is not laughing matter Julianne." She hissed under her breath. "What is so funny?"  
Ann turned to her, a careful smile on her face.

"I'm just happy Aunt Meg." She said. "_Pardon_, did I do anything wrong?"

The woman sighed heavily. Behind them Ann could hear footsteps approaching.

"No Ann." She said softly. "It is just of vital importance that I tell you something now that I should've told you before you came here."

The woman let go of her arm and put her arm around her.

"But, how ever you learned this Ann, I'm still _very_ proud of you."

Ann blushed and opened her mouth to comment when…

"Madam Giry, wait one moment."

The footsteps turned into a voice.

Ann turned back, recognizing the speaker as Madam Helena du'Fleur, and smiled at her.

The woman stopped on her other side and kissed her cheeks.

"You were magnifique Ann." She said; her voice warm with a smile. "Madam Giry, the managers, they are looking for you."

The Ballet Mistress let out an irritated breath.

"_Pourquoi cela_?" She asked exasperated.

Ann felt the woman shake her head.

"I am not sure." She said honestly. "They were talking to the major before they called me. I believe he mentioned you."

Madam Giry muttered a curse that made Ann giggle.

"Helena," she began exasperated, "could you take Ann to her room and stay with her there? She is very tired. I will join you shortly."

The older woman laughed and linked her arm with Ann's.

"Of course Madam." She said. "Do not be too hard on them."

The Ballet Mistress chuckled bitterly.

"You should not be worried about them. I will see you in a moment Ann."

Her footsteps moved back up the corridor.

Helena du'Fleur laughed softly.

"Rumour has it," she began in a conspiring tone, "that the major only comes to the opera with the hope of engaging Meg Giry in a conversation."

Ann smiled at the image, comfortably allowing the other woman to guide her.

"_Madam_." She said with a small smile. "The major, he is married."

"That is not a good enough excuse young Ann, where is your cane?"

Ann gave a start, she had completely forgotten about it.

"The dressing room." She replied quickly with a touch of unease. "That is the last place I remember having it."

She suddenly felt very exposed and pulled closer to Madam du'Fleur.

"Dressing room it is then." The woman said cheerfully. "Come on, I know which one they used for you."

Ann gave her a curious look.

"We can get it tomorrow." She said with a smile. "I don't think my aunt will be long."

They turned up a corridor.

"I'm not taking you to your room Ann." The woman said, Ann could now detect a hint of excitement in her voice. "Why didn't you tell me child?"

She wasn't exactly sure what she missed.

"Pardon?"

"I must have guessed." The older woman continued. "You have been so mysterious of late; you disappear for hours at a time…"

Ann was not completely lost.

"Madam, forgive me but what are you talking about?"

The woman stopped to look at her.

"Why, you're young man Ann." She explained. "Why did you not tell me that you had a suitor?"

Ann missed a step.

Before she could stop it she felt a fierce blush creep up her cheeks.

"Madam!" She said aghast. "I do not have a suitor!"

The older woman chuckled softly.

"Then who was the young man who told me, to tell you, to meet him at your usual spot."

Ann stopped before she tripped herself completely.

"Young man?" She queried before it dawned on her. "Oh."

She could feel the woman smiling at her.

"Come on." Mme. Le'Fleur said and coached her to start moving again. "You do not want to be late."

Ann didn't think it possible but her blush deepened as she became irritated with herself.  
Their relationship wasn't like _that_.

"Do not tell anyone Madam, please."

The woman chuckled softly.

"I won't." She said. "And do not worry; I will explain this to your aunt. I can not see her blessing you for it."

Ann's mouth went dry.

"She wouldn't."

She rubbed her brow with her free hand, unwillingly thinking of the consequences if her aunt got the wrong message.

Mme. Le'Fleur gave her a reassuring pat on the arm.

"Don't worry about it." She said. "Now, let me just tell you than I think you did a much better than Sophia Carré would've done."  
Ann blinked, pushing her unpleasant train of thought away.

"What does Sophia have to do with it?"

&&&

He did not doubt that she would come.

Following close behind her, to make sure that she wasn't followed, he once again admired the confidence with which Ann walked the now familiar path.

His heart felt as if it would burst with pride.

When Ann stepped through the door he waited a few moments before he joined her. She was making her way towards the stone angel when he closed the door behind him.

Ann jerked at the noise and turned around, sweeping her cane around her on the floor. She frowned slightly, cocked her head to the side as if listening to a sound that wasn't there, before she smiled and looked up.

"Young man?" She queried amused, her eyes sparkling under the stars.

It was a clear night.

"I could not be seen there in person." He mused as he walked down to her; he had wondered what she would think of the statement. "An… Acquaintance of mine, if you will, delivered the message for me."

Ann chucked softly as he reached her and pushed an imaginary strand of hair behind her ears.

"I knew I couldn't be that far off."

He smiled down at her, for the first time almost wishing that she could see him. He did not know how to put his pride into words; he could not even breach the subject.

"How old do you think I am?"

She blinked at the question and smiled embarrass.

"Does it matter?"

He surprised himself with a dry chuckle.

"No."

Ann smiled and impulsively reached out to touch his mask. Before he could shy away he felt the pressure of her hand as she gently caressed the smooth surface.

"_Merci_ Monsieur."

The words came so quickly that he didn't immediately know why she was thanking him.

He took a deep breath and slowly reached up to take her hand from his face.

"It is I who should thank you Ann."

Slowly and carefully he brought her hand to his lips and brushed her fingers with a kiss.

"You have given me back something of myself that…"

Memory assaulted him.

_Her dark eyes, filled with fear, never left his face as tears he knew he would never share streamed down her cheeks. _

_Even before he knew that the Opera house existed he had cried himself empty of all the tears a mortal man can fabricate. _

_Yet, that fear turned to determination. The fire he loved and hated pulsed behind every step she took. _

"_God give me courage to show you," she whispered as she slipped the ring back on her finger, "you are not alone."  
He did not know what she meant to do, and he did not expect what she did._

_Even on this chasm that would herald the end of their relationship Christine Daae still had the power to unimaginable things to his heart. _

_Something that he thought would never happen again, and urge so foreign and unwelcome, managed to overwhelm him as he felt his heart, and hatred, shatter.  
Her eyes was filled with so many emotions that he could not bear to watch them. _

_Tears he did not know he had within him started streaming down his face and they would flow for a very long time as he started mourn, not only loosing her, but a part of himself. _

He had to blink and take a very deep breath as he felt Ann's hand tighten in his.

Clearing his throat he noted that something stung behind the mask.

"You have given me something back of myself young Ann," he said, his voice filled with endearment, "that I have thought long gone."

The young woman gazed up at him, her unseeing eyes fixed on his.

Slowly, almost as if dancing, she reached up and placed her hand over his heart. She turned her face down then as she rested her head against his chest.

"You have given me myself." She whispered. "The greatest gift…"   
She stiffened suddenly and sniffed. Tearing her gaze away from him she stepped back and turned slightly.

Puzzled but not offended he studied her, placing his hand over the spot where she had rested her head.

Ann hugged herself against the night air, her face turned in the direction of the city. For a few moments it was almost as if she wrapped herself in solitude. Her hand came to her face in an old gesture which she had done almost repeatedly when she came to the Opera. He thought she had forgotten about it.

Then, just as quickly as it came, her mood passed as she turned back to him to give him a sheepish look.

"We must be quite a sight at the moment." She said with a small smile.

Still perplexed by the show of emotion he had witnessed he smiled to reassure her and opened his mouth to say something when a small bell underneath the window sounded.  
Ann's head whipped in its direction as he turned to the door.

Hissing underneath his breath he reached her in two strides.

"Someone's coming…"

&&&

Megan Giry was furious.

Pacing up and down in the foyer she made a point to glare at Helena du'Fleur again.

"I can not believe you let her go!" She said again. "Alone. Helena!"

The older woman cut of her soft chuckle and gave the Ballet Mistress what she hoped was a mild look.

"She said that you would react like this." She pointed out carefully.   
Meg stopped her pacing and turned her full fury on the woman. She had perfected this expression several years ago when she came to the heart sinking conclusion that more than three quarters of the people she would have to deal with in her life were either taller than she was or male.

"Then pray why did she not do as I told her to?"

Helena shifted slightly and found herself squirming uncomfortably.

"I urged her on Megan." She said slowly. "Come now Meg, she's a young, responsible woman. We all sneaked off when we were younger."

The look she received for her effort was frosty.

"I didn't." Meg snapped. "Or certainly never with some young lad."

She sniffed irritated but some of her anger was quietly turning into anxiety.

What was the girl thinking? A _young man_?  
She didn't know how much she could believe of it.

Ann _knew_ the risks.

"I'll tan her hide with that bloody cane that she carries." She muttered under her breath as she started pacing again. "I don't care how old she is."

Helena chuckled softly but thought it wise not to say anything else.

A few moments later the current Rat catcher and one of the wing men approached them.

They had been quite rudely taken away from festivities that were going on backstage. Both were smart enough though to show nothing of their displeasure when Meg Giry's sharp eyes rested on them.

"Have you found her?" She queried before they could stop.  
The two men shook their head simultaneously.

"We have searched everywhere Madame." The rat catcher said. "We started at the roof and worked our way down. We could not find her."

Meg's mouth thinned.

"Have you done a thorough search?" She queried. "Opening and closing a door does not count!"

The two men shifted uncomfortably but nodded.

"We searched as well as we could Madame." The wing man said. "Pardon, but she is not in this Opera house."

Meg Giry stared at them in silence for some time before she sighed and made a dismissive gesture.

"_Merci Messieurs_." She said with a soft sigh. "I am sorry that I wasted your time."

Each gave her a stocky bow before they left.

Feeling drained Meg rubbed her brow. She couldn't think of anything else to do and waiting was not an option.

Helena chuckled softly under her breath.

"Look on the bright side Megan." She said softly. "Maybe they eloped!"

Meg rounded on her, a sharp fear pulsing through her.

"This is no joke!" She snapped. "Julianne will not do that! She won't. She knows…"

She knew that she had said too much when the woman gave her a perplexed look.

"Julianne?" She queried.

The Ballet Mistress found herself blushing.

"Ann." She said. "I have to go Helena, I know of one other place to search."  
The older woman smiled slightly, her eyes fixed in the petite woman.

"Should I come with you?" She queried.  
Turning around Meg shook her head.

"No." She replied. "I know my way around."

&&&

Ann closed her eyes and breathed in the night air.

The soft wind pulled strands of hair from its neat arrangement and tickled her face. Pushing them from her face she unconsciously moved closer to the figure sitting next to her.

"Tell me where we are again?" She queried with a small smile.

Monsieur Erik shifted next to her and almost hesitantly squeezed the hand she had refused to let go when he guided her here.

She couldn't remember whether they had ever just sat like this. It was as if, in sharing music, they had opened another door between them.

"We are sitting on top of the entrance to the Opera." He said with an amused tone. "Do not worry, nobody can see us."  
Ann smiled as she turned her head slightly.

"I am not worried about that Monsieur." She said with a small smile. "Though I must say, coming here was a harrowing experience."

He had made her come here on a narrow ledge, so narrow in fact that she could not walk normally but rather shift across it with her front against the wall.

"I would not have let you fall."

She smiled again, allowing herself to smell his cologne.

"I wasn't worried about that either."

Sacrificing his own hold he had kept his one arm around her the whole time.

Ann closed her eyes and listened to the faint sounds of the courtyards.

"Some of the people are leaving." She said. "I hope this evening was successful for the managers."

Monsieur Erik did not comment on it immediately.

Ann raised an eyebrow at him and sighed softly.

"Monsieur, may I ask you something personal?"

She knew that it was a potentially dangerous question to ask. She did not want to spoil the mood but she wanted to know.

It felt like a lifetime before she felt his slow nod and she knew that it was no reassurances that he would answer her.

"Why do you not want to the people to know of you?" she asked carefully. "Why did you not go down to the banquet yourself?"  
Silence stretched between them as she felt the fate of her question swirl around them.

"I have no friends there." Monsieur Erik said finally. "Only enemies."

Ann knew that she should leave it there but, being curious by nature and unable to ignore the sudden burning urge to know more of this mysterious man made her push on.

"Why?" She queried softly.

Again the silence reigned long past the comfort factor when, sighing as if he was loosing some inner battle, Ann felt Monsieur Erik draw away from her a little.

"Years ago." He began heavily, sound as if every word had to be dragged away from him. "Long before you time, I think – even before you were born, I was a part time manager, if you will, of this humble establishment." He hesitated, turned over his words. "Under my, supervision… People got killed."

Ann had expected a lot of explanations but not this.

Her mouth felt strangely dry, but more empowering was the reformed knot in her throat.

"Was it an accident?"

Monsieur Erik let out a slow breath and she could almost imagine him lifting his head up to the night.

"At the time no, and nobody certainly saw it so." He said. "But, with hind sight and years you realise that it was just a matter of circumstance. So yes, a foolish – costly one. But an accident none the less."

He turned to her, awaiting his fate.

Ann was frowning slightly as she thought on this.

"Then I don't know what they are on about." She said finally with a small smile. "That makes no difference to me."

She could feel him relax.

"You understand now why I can not let you speak of me?" He queried softly. "The people would not understand Ann, least of all your Aunt. She knew the people who died."

Ann nodded slowly.

"I figured as much." She said with a soft sigh. It suddenly came to her that her mother probably knew the people as well.

It was such a strange thought. She had never really associated her mother with the Opera.

Suddenly she also found herself wondering whether Monsieur Erik knew her mother.

She almost asked him but decided against it.

She did not want to be associated with Christine Daae, her Aunt had made that very clear.

"Does it bother you?"

She came back to herself and blinked.

"I… Sorry?" Her thoughts had wandered too far from the conversation.   
She felt him shift in next to her again.

"Does it bother you that you can not tell?"  
Ann blinked again and shook her head.

"No." She said. "This is… This is my life Monsieur. It… For now, this is all I have. I will tell my aunt. One day. If she still holds ill thoughts towards you then I doubt whether she could ever understand what you had given me. I'd rather not worry her more than she already does."  
She felt him smile at her.

"What will you tell her when you return?"

Ann shrugged light heartedly and searched for his hand again.

"Something." She said softly as she rested her head on his shoulder. "I'll think of something."

&&&

Meg Giry sat on Julianne's bed, her gaze unfocused in the steadily increasing light.

In her mature years she had come to resent people referring to her as Little Meg. She was a grown woman and not _that_ small besides.

Yet, with her thoughts darker than the world outside, she felt like that young reflection of herself. Uncertain, numb and above all, petrified for a person she loves.

She sat very still until the grey light made the objects in the room more visible. Sighing softly, she stood up and went to her room.

Her trip down into caves had proved as fruitless as the first time she went down. She still didn't know what she would've done if she had found _them_ probably because in a strange way she knew that she wouldn't.

The Phantom and Julianne.  
She shuddered and dropped down next to her bed.

She still did not know whether she was grabbing at straws. Maybe her guilt at bringing the young woman here, clearly against her parents' wishes, was beginning to take its toll.

She still had no _proof_ that Julianne had contact with the Ghost, yet she _knew_.

She could feel him as she had felt him when she was younger and, it frightened her that his presence was becoming stronger. She could hear him behind Julianne's voice, she could see him in the empty box 5. She felt him in the silent fear of the managers and the quick explanation M. Reyer gave her when she cornered him about teaching Julianne Sophia's part.

And Sophia.

She closed her eyes before searched underneath the bed until she felt a dusty wooden chest and drew it out.

It wasn't very big and, by all accounts she knew that it would be more appropriate to call it a box but, when she was little it had been her chest of wonders.  
She had found it at the foot of her bed on her twelfth birthday and, when she had asked her mother about it the older woman had only smiled, kissed her on the forehead and told her it came from the Ghost.

It had not been the first such present she received and certainly not the last.

A tiny carved ballet dancer, a painting of the mountains she had dreamt of seeing, an old Gothic novel her mother refused to let her read.

All these gifts and more were nestled on the chest before her.  
Even before Christine Daae had started receiving lessons from her _mysterious_ tutor Meg had felt the presence of the Ghost all around her.

Rubbing the dust away from the top she carefully opened the wooden relic. It had a pressure lock which she had to press in exactly the right way at the exactly the correct spots to open.  
To her childhood delight she had taken almost two weeks to figure it out.

Although it was still too dark to make out all of the contents she knew exactly what was in it.

_A small bundle of tied letters, most still in their skull covered envelopes. _

She had started collecting them when she first discovered that M. Lefèvre kept them in a small drawer in his desk. They were generally very vague with their messages. A hint here and there on who to place where in the chorus, a reminder for his salary, a suggestion that her mother received an extra bonus for the astounding work she had done on _Fidelio. _Meg had kept that one in particular and had read it numerous times.

Although she would never admit it she had hero-worshipped her mother and any praise towards the hard working woman had made her burst with pride.   
And, she had also noticed, much later, that the note had been send to M. Lefèvre during a time that they had been experiencing some financial difficulties. It felt nice to know that her little family had been taken care of by a higher force.

There were notes addressed to M. Reyer, also filled with praise and subtle hints about his orchestra. She even had one addressed to Madame Boito, a diva who had briefly sung at the Opera when Signora La Carlotta had been in one of her off fits. It had been unopened. She doubted whether the woman even noticed it.

Added to those that she collected later when their current managers joined the Opera she was almost confident to say she had one to every major player in the Opera's history before those fateful events.

Except of course her mother.

When she was younger she had always found it strange that, for the woman who seemed to know the most of what was going on under the Opera's roof; her mother never seemed to be in contact with the Phantom of the Opera.

'_Those who speak of what they know, find to late that prudent silence is wise…'_

Meg shuddered, closed her eyes and focused her attention on the other objects she had not addressed yet.

_A dark dried rose, a copy of Don Juan Triumphant – the only one she had managed to save from the original carnage in the cave – a candle and… _

She paused as the light became better and searched around the box.

Her heart skipped a beat, but she knew that she had not opened this chest of memories in ages.

It was not there.  
She did not take it out, but it was not there.

Feeling nauseous Meg looked up, out of the window.

The dust on the box and on her fingers told her something she did not want to know.  
It had been a long time since the box had been opened.  
And the Mask was not in it.


	18. 17 The Return of Antoinette Giry

**Chapter 17: The Return of Antoinette Giry. **

_There was an ear piercing hiss of steam as the train finally came to a halt. A bustle of human activity brought the silent platform to life as people moved forward and doors were opened. The chaos lasted for several minutes then slowly, like water leaking out of a broken bucket, the crowds disappeared as the people retreated back to their homes and sanctuaries. _

_An old woman, helped by the station Master and one of the orderlies, descended down the train steps and stopped on the platform.  
Waving of their help, she took a firm hold of her cane and looked around. The sights and smells of pre-dawn Paris welcomed her like an old friend.  
She smiled slightly and looked around, searching for a familiar face. _

_Finding no one she snorted slightly and waved over two young men who were standing around. _

_Bidding them to take the luggage the train staff had brought for her she walked over to one of the station benches, leaning heavily on the cane in her hand. _

_&&&_

Although she couldn't be sure, Ann's time sense told her that it was just past dawn or somewhere in that time frame.  
She yawned behind her hand and pushed something out of the way that her cane picked up.

She decided quite promptly that she was going to sleep for a week. The hour or so that she had accidentally got on Monsieur Erik's shoulder wasn't close to enough. Her physical exhaustion was nothing compared to the emotional fatigue that hung over her like the remnants of last night's song.

She smiled, reliving the warm glow of companionship which she had felt all evening. She could not imagine ever knowing a person quite like Monsieur Erik.

He, like their relationship, was unique in her life.  
She would be the first one to admit that, before her life at the Opera house, she had lived in a pretty secluded little world.  
Her mother and her nanny, _Frau_ Greta Kellermann, had been the central figures in her life. She had had little interaction with anybody outside her family or her family's friends. Her mother, although very encouraging, was very protective over her.

Not for the first time Ann felt a brush of guilt at leaving the woman in the way that she did. No matter how many letters she sent through Aunt Meg and Philippe, she knew that her mother would still worry.

She blushed suddenly.  
Her father would be livid as well.

A wave of homesickness washed over her but she quickly pushed it away. She knew that she would have to go home at some time. Most probably in the relatively near future.

She had responsibilities.

She might as well enjoy the time she had left at the Opera.

Stopping her unconscious count she turned to her right and felt for the door knob. When she felt the iron handle with the lint tied around it she smiled and opened the door as softly as she could. With a bit of luck, her aunt would still be asleep…

&&&

Bright sunlight was already streaming into the room, promising a potentially bright day.

Meg Giry sat up out of her thoughts when the door opened and moved to the edge of Julianne's bed. She heard a shuffle in the next room and the hollow tap of a cane on the door.

There was a moment's hesitation before the door handle came down slowly and the young blind woman slipped into the room.

She had changed, Meg remarked. Not over night, but gradually, slowly. Being apart of the Opera Populaire had brought out everything in Julianne that Meg had hoped and more.

Yet, it was that "_and"_ which had made Meg cringe.

The _more_ should not have happened, what ever the cause.

"Julianne de Changy, what do you think you're doing?"

The young woman, who had just been about to approach the bed, gasped and took an uncontrolled step back.  
She had not expected anybody to be in the room with her.

"Aunt… Meg?" She queried hesitantly as she clutched the cane to her chest. "What… What are you doing here?"

Her blind gaze trailed somewhere on the floor.

Meg took extra care to make her tone as cold as she could.

"I should be asking you the same thing." She retorted icily. "Where were you Julianne?"

If she hadn't been waiting for it she would've missed the quick way Julianne doubled her grip on her cane to keep her hand from shooting to her face.

Her sightless eyes remained impassive as she gave her aunt a curious look.

"I just went for a walk." She said. "You were still…"

"I never went to bed Julianne." She said. "Helena told me of your _young man_, do you think I'm a blind fool?"

The younger woman's head shot up as her pale cheeks coloured slightly.

"I did no harm Aunt Meg!" She snapped all to quickly. "I didn't do anything!"

Meg noticed the way her ward let her cane rest on the floor. Her body language spoke of a desire to run.

Without warning her Meg took her cane from her vice grip.

The smooth surface felt cold and alive on her fingers. She quickly cast it to the bed.

"I brought you to this Opera house to discover _yourself_ Julianne." Meg said icily as she regarded the now slightly uncertain young woman. "Not to discover a knack for lying, heaven forbid. It does not become you."  
Christine's daughter touched her lips with her tongue before she pulled herself up and folded her arms over her breasts.

"I did not discover a knack for _lying_ Aunt Meg." She said icily. "Till now I've spoken only the truth. What do you think of me?"

Meg could not tell her.

"Julianne." She said gravely. "Proof me wrong then and tell me who taught you Sophia's part and who this supposed young man was that Helena told me about."

There was something unnerving in the way Julianne's unsighted eyes suddenly came up and met hers. Vivid emotions danced around behind them.

"Monsieur Reyer told you." She began coldly. "He showed me. If only to appease my own mind that I was doing _something_ right. We did not foresee that Sophia was going to fall ill. He indulged me." She sniffed. "And as for the _supposed_ _young man_, he is a friend. No more. You know me Aunt Meg, we just talked. He is a friend."

Meg could not make herself relax. She could not find the truth in those words.

"All night?"  
Her tone was poisonous but it was nothing compared to the sudden anger that flared up behind Julianne's blue orbs.

"Yes!" She snapped. "We lost track of time. What do you think of me Aunt Meg? How dare you question my morals! I know what's waiting for me _out there_ Aunt. I remember. I know this is not real, through it all _I know that_. I never forgot. I know that Ann LeRoux does not exist but heaven help me, give her some credit."

"_I _would if I knew her. I have not heard a lot of people stand up to a Giry in such a manner."

Both women jumped surprised at the new voice.

Julianne turned around shocked and would've lost her balance if it wasn't for her Aunt's steadying hand.

Two of the three people in the room stared at each other.

"Mother." Meg breathed finally. "What are you doing here? I thought you would only arrive tomorrow."

The old woman wore a small smile as she hobbled into the room and closed the door behind her.

"Obviously you got it wrong." She said. "I suspected as much when you didn't show up."

She gave Julianne a curious look.

"And who is this charming young lady? I could not help but remember the past when I walked in. I haven't had to break up a dispute between two women in _ages._" She sat down on the bed without being asked.

"Now I know I'm truly home."

The years did not change Antoinette Giry much. At first glance she still appeared to be a willowy, stately woman and it was only at closer inspection that one would notice the iron grey hair in a stark bun under her hat, or the slight limp she walked with to favour an aging hip.

Her eyes, sharp and grey, were still as alert as the first day she stood up in front of a class.

Her time away from Paris had certainly improved her once failing health.

Meg opened and closed her mouth. She felt like a little girl, caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

She glanced at Julianne who had tilted her head in the direction of the newcomer. Her face had an uncertain expression as she tried to identify Madam Giry.

_Worse._ Meg realised. _This was much worse than a cookie jar._

"Ahm," Meg began, "I ah, this is… You look well Mother."

There was an uncomfortably amused light in her mother's eyes as she studied her.

"As do you daughter." She said and smiled.

The silence that reigned seemed to suck the answer out of her.

Meg took a quick breath and licked her lips. Julianne had sensed her unease and moved closer to her for support.

"Ah, Mother." Meg began slowly. "I would… Like… to introduce you to one of our… New chorus members." She slipped her hand into Julianne's, her previous emotion towards the young woman forgotten. "This is… Ann LeRoux."  
Her mother's silent gaze screamed her lie.  
She swallowed again.

"Or… Otherwise known as _Julianne Christine de Changy_." She all but hissed the last part.

Antoinette raised her eyebrows ever so slightly.

"I figured as much." She mused and stood up. Studying Julianne's face with polite curiosity she stepped closer to her and touched her arm.

"It's a pleasure to meet you child." She said warmly. "You have a lot of your mother in your face. And your father. A good combination."

Still uncertain Julianne carefully took the hand on her arm and bobbed a slight curtsy.

"A pleasure Madam." She said politely. "I have heard a lot about you."  
Antoinette Giry's eyes were like a winter storm when they rested on her daughter.

"And I of you." Her tone was a sharp contrast to her gaze, still warm and comforting for Julianne's sake. "You look exhausted child. Meg?"

Meg blinked out of her frozen state and nodded.

"Julianne didn't sleep last night." She said hollowly. "_Mon chérie_, why don't you change and get some sleep. We will talk later."

Julianne nodded her hand still in Madam Giry's. The older woman squeezed it before she let it go.

"It was a pleasure meeting you Madam." Julianne told her and moved her one hand around. Meg recognised the gesture and quickly handed the young woman her cane back.

Antoinette watched all of this with faint curiosity.

"And you." She said warmly. "We will talk later."  
The last was an echo of her daughter's.

Meg thought that she was going to be sick.

Standing on her toes she kissed her ward lightly on the cheek before she went to her mother to offer her a hand.

"Sleep well Julianne." She said weakly. "Mother?"  
The older woman allowed herself to be escorted out of the room.

Meg glanced back once to look at Julianne.  
The young woman still stood where she had left her, clutching her cane to her chest. Turning around, Meg saw her rub her hand over her face.  
Her mother closed the door behind her.

"She's got very cold hands." The old woman remarked dryly.

Meg swallowed and shifted uncomfortably, unable to meet her mother's eyes.

"Maybe we should go out for breakfast." She said weakly. "I know this little place…"

&&&

_Antoinette Giry felt like a ghost as she wandered through the passage ways of what had been her home. Unused props and feathered masks stared at her with sightless eyes and the large, broken up head of the elephant screamed at her accusingly.  
Two years have passed since the incident._

_Two years in which the Opera has moved on in some semblance of normality. Damages were repaired, new staff hired, old staff bribed. _

_What had happened on the first and final night of_ Don Juan Triumphant _had been pushed from memory by most yet, try as she might, she could not make herself think of it as anything else. _

_It had been catastrophic event caused by circumstances that no one was to blame for. _

_Her heart constricted. _  
Well, maybe one person.

_Walking past some unused props she passed a broken mirror but could not turn towards it._

_She had taken her daughter to the station that morning. _

_Megan Giry, despite having a deep and enduring love for the only home she truly ever knew, could not stand living in the face of so many haunted memories.  
Too often her mother had found her sitting silently on the floor, staring at her little box of memoirs. _

_It had not taken a lot of convincing to get her to leave it behind. Her daughter felt as if she needed to start a new life. _

_She knew that the little dancer would be back eventually. The Opera was too much a part of them to let her go so easily but, for now; it was good that she made her own means away from this place. _

The Opera was changing.

He _had left long ago and it had left an empty imprint on the Opera she could not describe. _

_She had not even bothered searching him out after the desecration of his layer. She had been too ashamed to. _

_What would've happened if she had not taken Raoul down? _

_Would she have lost Christine, the girl she had come to love as a second daughter? _

_Did it outweigh the fact that she broke a promise and through that lost him?   
The Opera had not been the same since his silent presence became hollow emptiness. The passion which had fuelled the place was gone and in its stead was a pressing, silent suffocating void left by his mysterious departure. _

_She sighed softly and gave her long braid a slight tug. _

_She was going to miss her daughter. _

_Reaching a corner Antoinette looked around her, a bit surprised that she had come this far. _

_She did not know what had first made her start roaming the top walkways of the Opera. Perhaps the unbearable urge to get away from the pressing darkness around her. Although not comforting, the open solitude in the rafters were better than the crowded loneliness below. _

_She sighed again and turned back but a beam of sunlight caught her gaze. _

_Idly Antoinette turned to look at it. Unbidden she followed its thin trail up to it's source._

_The top door to the roof was standing ajar. _

_She bit her lower lip and leaned against the wooden railing, wondering why it would be open. Very few people came up here as most were forbidden and the rest too scared. _

_She turned to leave, knowing what emotions normally drove people to the roof, yet a nagging feeling just on the edge of notice made her turn around again. _

_Slowly, keeping her eyes locked on the door, Antoinette slowly climbed the last few steps slipped through the door.  
It was a murky day outside and there was a cemetery like chill in the thick mist that obscured the statues.  
She shivered and pulled a black shawl that was around her shoulders closer to her. Slowly, almost walking on her toes, she moved to the large angel, looking around as she did. _

_To her surprise, there was nobody there. _

_She grimaced when she reached the end of platform and stared out over what would've been Paris had it not been for the foul weather. _

_The view, or lack of it, was too depressing for her and she dropped her head as she turned around.  
Something brushed against her cheek. _

_Antoinette gasped softly and instinctively reached out to touch her face. _

_Looking around surprised she spotted a piece of material hanging down from the angel. Its wings were obscured by the mist. _

_Unable to suppress a shudder she carefully tugged on it. _

_The material did not move, but something on top of the statue did. _

_Antoinette let out a strangled cry and took a step back but missed her footing and fell back. _

_Landing hard on her one side she turned on her back with a pained grunt and stared at up the statue horrified. _

_As if called by an unnatural force a sudden wind picked up, briefly parting the mists. _

_Antoinette Giry gasped and tried to scramble up as the dead eyes met hers._

"Maître …"_ She breathed softly. _

&&&

"You're not taking any chances." Antoinette Giry remarked dryly much later as she and her daughter sat down at a little café.

It was on the other side of town.  
Meg didn't say anything as she studied the white tablecloth.

Her eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep and she didn't have the strength to have this conversation with her mother.

The woman picked up her daughter's reluctance and sat back slowly.

"Does her mother know?"

With out looking up Meg shook her head.

"She thinks that she is in Brittan with a friend."

Antoinette studied her daughter closely, noting the strain in the corner of her eyes.

"Would she have approved?"  
Again that solemn shake.

"No." Meg whispered, again without looking up. "You know how Christine and Raoul feel about the Opera."

Antoinette nodded with a sigh and waved the _garçon_ off.

"Then," she began slowly, "for the love of life Megan, _why_ did you bring her here?"

Her daughter shifted uncomfortably. After long consideration she looked up with a pleading light in her eyes.

"Because I wanted her to live _Mère_." She whispered softly. "I wanted her to see what she can do before she is faced with everything she can't. You know what would've happened to her. I can't stop it but, Mother, I could give her something. I _had_ to. It's unfair, she has so much talent. It would've been wasted…"  
Antoinette gave her a painful look.

"You are not her mother Meg." She said. "You had no right to give her this. Not this Meg, not here."

Her daughter's eyes flared up suddenly in a show of temper.

"I am not the only one who did things I had no right to!" She snapped. "Do not use _that_ tone with me."

Antoinette sat back a bit surprised at this unexpected show of emotions.

"What are you accusing me of Megan?" She asked quietly.

Meg Giry momentarily balled her fists on the table but then she sighed and put them in her lap.

"Why did you never receive any letters from the Ghost Mother?"

Antoinette raised a small eyebrow and tilted her head to the side to give her daughter a hawkish look.

"Because there was never a ghost Meg." She said cuttingly. "You know it as well as I do."

Her daughter's face became almost a mirror image of her own.

"That _man_ then."

&&&

_Antoinette painfully picked herself up from the floor, brushing off dirt as she did. Like a misplaced stone gargoyle this man continued to stare at her, his malformed features even more grotesque in the strange light of the mists. _

_Shaking with shock Antoinette moved closer, her eyes never leaving his gaunt face. _

"_Monsieur." She whispered softly. "You have returned, where have you been?"   
Lifeless eyes offered her no answer as they continued to look through her. Suppressing a whimper she walked to the foot of the statue. _

"_Monsieur, please answer me." _

_She tried to study him but her eyes could not leave his face and she hated herself for it. _

_The shell of the man she had once known did not even respond. _

"_Monsieur, are you hurt?" She pressed again. "Monsieur, when was the last time you ate? Monsieur?"  
She reached up to touch him but drew back even before she properly reached up to him. The nakedness of his face gave this man the air of a dying man. Try as she might, she could not make herself touch him. _

_Once again suppressing a whimper Antoinette Giry tore herself away from his unbearable ghost like gaze. _

"_I will come back." She managed before she fled from the roof. _

&&&

Mother and daughter faced each other across the table.

Antoinette Giry shifted slightly and leaned forward, fixing her daughter with an intense expression.

"It was never needed." She said calmly.

Meg's face was like white marble.

"Why?" She persisted, her ward momentarily forgotten.

Antoinette did not so much as blink nor did her expression waver as she faced her daughter.

"There are some things Megan…" She began softly. "That I can not tell you now, because you will not understand them."

The younger woman's temper flared again.

"I'm a grown woman Mother!" She snapped. "You owe me. You owe me at least some type of explanation."

Antoinette shook her head slowly.

"Perhaps." She said. "But not now Megan. We did not come here for this. This has nothing to do with Julianne."  
Meg snorted and shook her head sharply.

"It might have everything to do with it Mother." She retorted. "Everything. I think he's seeing Julianne. I think he is still at the Opera. Is that true?"

Antoinette sighed softly. "Why are you asking me Meg?" She queried softly.   
Her daughter had a pained expression.

"Because you know him." She said exasperated. "Because you have always… Known him."

Her mother studied her with a tired expression.

"This is not a conversation we're going to have now Megan." She said seriously. "I told you, not now. Now what of Julianne?"  
Her daughter gave her a long, haunted look.

"If you do not want to talk about him Mother." She said hollowly. "Then I can not talk to you about Julianne. My fear for her is because of him."  
Again, Antoinette shifted as she regarded her daughter ran and slowly crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"Then I must ask you again, why did you bring her here?"

The current Ballet Mistress took a long time to answer that question.   
Finally she sniffed and folded her hands in front of her.

"Because I wanted to safe her from herself." She replied. "And perhaps safe myself in the process."  
Antoinette nodded slowly, a surprising amount of compassion behind her eyes as she gave her daughter a pitying look.

"Remember those words Meg, please."

Meg Giry wore a painful expression on her face when she looked into her mother's eyes.

"Why don't you want to tell me everything Mother?" She asked softly, with no insistence in her tones.

Her mother reached out and carefully touched her arm.

"Because some things you are not ready for." She said softly. "And some things you have to discover for yourself."

Meg shook her head in miserably incomprehension.

Her mother regretfully noted that she had the same haunted look in her eyes which she had had so many years ago when she found her huddled under the organ with a bone mask and a black cape which did not belong to her.

As if sensing her thoughts Meg looked up.

"Just answer me one thing then." She said slowly. "Do you know what happened to the Mask that I had found?"

Her mother blinked surprised.

"_Pardon?"_

Her daughter's eyes were tense as she regarded her.

"The Mask I found in the cave." She said. "The one I kept in my box. It's gone. I've been thinking about it, you are the only other person who knew about it."

Antoinette had to get her thoughts straight.

"Not the only one…" She mused softly. "I threw it out ages ago Megan; did you only notice that it was gone now? I threw it out just after you left the Opera."

Meg's eyes blazed with irritation.

"You had no right." She muttered, sounding younger than her age. "I found it."

Her mother gave her a slightly amused look.

"Couldn't have been that important if you only discovered that it was gone now." She said sassily. "Honestly Meg, I threw it out more than a decade ago. I've almost forgotten about it."  
The younger woman's mouth thinned.

"I felt no need to look in the box." She said. "I knew what was in it. I mean, I only really returned to the Opera five years ago. Urges… Fade."  
Her mother raised an eyebrow.

"Then why did you open it now? After all this time?"

Meg took a tired breath and shook her head.

"Because I wanted answers."

&&&

_She knew what she had to get. _

_Antoinette hurried back to her room and went into her daughter's which adjoined hers. After Christine left, as well as half of the staff, Madam Giry had taken the chance to move her daughter out of the dormitories. _

_In Meg's room she took a moment to orientate herself before she went down on her hands and knees and pulled the small wooden chest from underneath her bed. _

_It had been a pleasant surprise to her when these little gifts had started to appear. She immediately knew their origin and had not been particularly displeased. It had brought a strange form of comfort to realise that he had decided to keep his original promise to her to keep an eye on her daughter.   
She struggled with the lock for sometime. Meg had showed her once but she had never tried it herself. _

_Finally managing to open the box Antoinette pushed away a brush of guilt at going through her daughter's personal things and carefully took out the assortment of mismatched gifts and collected items. What she was searching for was hidden away below everything else. It barely managed to fit into the box and, instead of wrapping a piece of material around it her daughter had rather just managed to put a piece of dark cloth between it and the rest of the items. _

_Putting it in the folds of her dark dress Antoinette quickly put everything back into the box before she wrapped the item in the dark cloth she found with it. _

_Leaving the Antoinette quickly made her way back to the roof. _

_The mist had given way to a heavier rain yet n a strange way it made the world more visible. The Shadow had slipped down from the statue and was now huddled beneath it._

_She could not help but wonder if he had just simply stayed there the way he had fallen. _

_She closed her eyes and took a moment. She could not afford to start crying now. _

"_Monsieur…" She softly called to his attention. "Monsieur, I have brought this for you."  
He did not look up when she unwrapped the object or when she held it out to him. _

_In his silence, she felt the irresistible urge to explain herself and hesitantly moved forward, carefully threading on the wet roof. _

"_My daughter, she found it." She tried. "She went down… Monsieur, here – please take it."  
Still he did not respond and, for a moment, Antoinette Giry feared that he had only come back to the Opera to die here. _

_With her heart beating more rapidly at every step, she slowly enclosed the space between them. When she was within arm's reach of his knee she carefully held it out again, she didn't bother to try and address him again. _

_As she realised that he would not take it from her she took a step back.   
Again the overwhelming urge to cry enveloped her. _

_Sighing softly she tried to give him a smile, stepped up to him and carefully placed the object on his knee. _

"_I am sorry Monsieur." She whispered. "I am truly sorry."  
He jerked when she touched him but he did not look at her. _

_Rubbing her brow, feeling a familiar hopelessness come over her she bobbed a small curtsey and turned around. _

_She was already close to the door when she first heard the sound behind her. _

_Turning around she was just in time to see the Mask before the hand struck her face. _

_Madam Antoinette Giry gasped and stumbled back against the wall, though more from shock than force. Bringing a hand up to her stinging cheek she could not stop the whimper of fear that moved over her lips. _

_The Mask loomed above her, poised as if to strike her again. _

_It had an almost sinister glow against the bleakness of the weather. _

"Why?"

_Her throat constricted with the emotions she had been fighting all day as she tasted metallic blood in her mouth. He did not need to ask more. _

_There were more questions wrapped up in that one word than she could answer in a life time. _

Why did you come back?  
Why did you bring me the Mask?  
Why did you betray me?

Why?

_Tears snuck to the surface. _

"_Because I was afraid, Monsieur." She breathed. "Because I loved her. Monsieur, I loved her." _

_It seemed to be the wrong thing to say because his face constricted behind the Mask and without warning he let out an almost animal like cry of pain. _

"_As… did… I." He rasped as he balled his fist to strike her again. "As did I!" _

_She closed her eyes and waited for the blow but it never came. _

_Instead she heard the dull sound of something striking the floor and opened her eyes just in time to see him hunch forward on his knees, his hands covering his ears and head._

"_I loved her!" He rasped. "I loved her…"_

_Fierce sobs started to shake his body as he huddled on the floor the weight of the world seemingly crushing him. _

_Antoinette got up as if to flee but her own words rang in her ears as she heard his. _

"I promise that we will always keep watch over you…"

_Touching the inside of her cheek with her tongue Antoinette slowly pulled of her shawl and, with shaking hands, draped it over the man's shoulders._

"_I…" She had to swallow. "I know Monsieur."  
Carefully, slowly with her body poised to jump to flee, she slid down next to him and rested her hand on his shoulder. _

"_I understand Monsieur." _

_He did not say anything but slowly, after a considerable time, leaned in against her hand… _

_The sobs never stopped. _

&&&

Antoinette Giry gasped for breath as she finally closed the door behind her. She could not remember that the hike up to the roof was so long.

_She must've taken a wrong turn somewhere. She wasn't old! _

Coughing she closed her eyes and carefully sat down on the steps before the door until she got her breath back.

The rest of the "breakfast" with her daughter had not gone much better than it's start. Meg was too tired and too stubborn to voice her fears directly, almost as if she feared that speaking them might make them true. She herself had also not been very forth coming. She knew that she would have to tell her daughter the full truth someday. A someday which she feared was coming closer than she bargained for, yet a someday none the less.

The girl complicated matters though.  
She could not believe her daughter was so foolish as to bring Christine's daughter here.

When she opened her eyes again there was a figure standing next to the statue.

Antoinette took a steadying breath and slowly pushed herself up.

Still leaning heavily on her cane she idled over to the person and went to stand a few lengths from him, whilst turning her sights to the roofs of Paris.

They stood in a companionable silence for a very long time.

Madam Giry finally turned from the view and walked over to the statue of the horses. Aware that he was looking at her she sat down and gave him a pointed look.  
After some consideration behind the Mask he turned and joined her at the closest railing.

Antoinette shifted her cane in front of her.

"I understand that you spend most of the night… about." She said in a stately tone. "Should you not be sleeping?"  
Calm amusement danced behind the Mask but he did not answer her. Their conversations had never been very verbal.

She took his silence to study him, taking note of what had changed in him since last she saw him.

She came up with a disturbing number of small things.

Antoinette clicked her tongue and looked at the sky again.

"You have been eating better."  
The look in his eyes echoed her words back at her.

She smiled slightly.

"There is a good cook."

She thought for a moment.

"The death mute's a bit of a cliché though."  
He barked a laugh.

Antoinette shivered; she found the humour in his tone almost disturbing.

"You have changed Monsieur." She stated with a sigh. "And I am not even going to name the reason. We both know."  
He smiled then, an even more alarming gesture.

Giving her a pointed look the Phantom turned around again.

She sniffed but did not push herself up immediately.

"You are making a mistake."

She felt, more than saw his slight shift in attention.

"I will not hurt her Madam Giry." He replied softly. "Do not be concerned."

Antoinette gave him a desperate look and stood up.

"It is not her that I am worried about." She said softly. "Do not do this to yourself again."

He turned to meet her eyes.

"This is different than then." He said in a quite voice. "She is… Not Christine Madam Giry."  
_How can you bring yourself to say her name?_

Antoinette had to take a steadying breath. "They are more alike than you think Monsieur." She pressed. "For your sake and hers…"  
He moved so quickly that she almost didn't even feel him taking her hand. She could feel the coldness of his touch even through the gloves that he wore.

"I will not allow matters to go too far Madam Giry." He said, with a touch of insistence. "Give me this small amount of faith, please. You said yourself, I have changed. This is not the same."

The intensity of his gaze rendered her speechless and she could only respond once he let go of her hand and turned back to Paris.

"It is not you that I do not trust." She said hoarsely. "Ann LeRoux is not who she appears to be and you must keep in mind that she will probably not be around forever. She has a family…"

She could see that he was not listening.  
Sighing, Antoinette rubbed her brow and shook her head.

"I'm not going to come to the roof again." She said. "The hike will help me into an early grave."

He glanced at her and smiled slightly.

"You will outlive us all."  
She shook her head and walked to the door. She felt his eyes on her back.

"It's good to have you back Madam Giry."  
Antoinette Giry sighed and glanced back at him, feeling haunted by the sincerity in his tone.

"I'm going to regret it before the end. There are some letters and documents for you from Spain on the steps. Take them when you leave."

&&&

Two gentlemen were walking past the Opera house.

"This is the letter and the address." One said as he slipped a parcel into his companion's pocket. "I want you to tell your man to change horses at every station. Is that understood?"

The other stuck his hand into his pocket but did not take the thin parcel out.

"Should he wait for a reply Monsieur?"

The first shook his head and squinted up at the magnificent building. A shadow on the roof caught his attention but just as quickly as he had seen it, it was gone.

"I think, Monsieur." He said coldly. "His reaction will be enough…"

&&&


	19. 18 Decouverte

**Chapter 18: Découverte.**

"Do you know Madam Giry?"

She startled up out of her thoughts and looked in the direction of his voice. She blinked, half shook her head as if to clear it, and carefully walked to the corner of the roof.

Three days had passed since the gala evening and two since the inevitable arrival of Madam Antoinette Giry.  
The old woman had settled back into the opera like a legend in history and she was the topic of conversation of most of the younger, as well as older staff.

Ann wasn't very surprised that Monsieur Erik had brought her up.

"I knew _of_ her before she came here." She replied as she held her hand out before her till she touched the stone. "But that is not common knowledge here, Monsieur Erik. If you catch my _allusion_ …"

She gave her companion a hesitant smile, which grew in confidence when she heard him chuckle softly under his breath. He was somewhere to her right, sitting if she was not mistaken.

Although three days have passed since the Manager's Gala evening, they had had very little time to spend with each other since their previous evening together. Although she gave no sign or explanation of it Ann knew that Meg Giry was watching her like a hawk.

A brief touch of irritation stirred in the young woman's heart.

_She had no right._ Ann found herself thinking. _Her Aunt has always trusted her, what has changed? _

"The whole grandmother masquerade?"

Ann blushed and nodded, pulling her thoughts away from her so called family.

"It is just a rumour Monsieur." She said hastily. "But, when it started Aunt Meg told me not to confirm or deny it. It was easier… Administrating things."

She felt Monsieur Erik's nod, after which they relapsed into the silence that had reigned before his question.

It wasn't exactly uncomfortable. They had long since learned that words, conversation or even purpose wasn't necessary to fulfil their companionship. It was also nice to just enjoy each others company after their intensive practicing and the past few days of withdrawal.

Ann had also realised that she strangely yearned for quietness of his presence.

The thought was unsettling, she did not appreciate silence.

She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, smelling Paris, the Opera and the faint hint of his cologne.

She felt as if she could know him anywhere.

He stirred from his position and stood up with the quiet cascade of shifting material.

"You are very quiet today." He pointed out.

She had to turn her face towards him again. _  
How their relationship had changed._ She mused. _In the beginning this would've been a very bold gesture, coming from him.  
_Now…  
Her brief moment's irritation filtered away and was replaced by a more pressing, yet tiny worm of guilt.

"I am thinking about Madam Giry." She tried lightly, pushing the emotion away. "Do you not also find it amusing that, the moment she came here, people didn't know what to call her daughter?"

He chuckled softly, but she could feel his attention on her, taking in everything that she didn't say, everything that she didn't do.

"Antoinette Giry has been in this Opera longer than I have." He mused. "It must've been confusing for everyone when her daughter, with the same surname, took over. Names have a way of imprinting themselves on a place."

Ann smiled slightly.

"What's in a name?" She quoted. "That which we call a rose, by any other name, would smell as sweet"

"I doubt Monsieur Shakespeare was writing about the Girys."

Ann barked a laugh and shook her head.

"Only because he never had the privilege of knowing them Monsieur." She said. "They would certainly have made better subject matter."

"I take it you do not appreciate the Master of English literature?"

She felt his amusement; almost as clearly as if it touched her face and coached her smile. Her mouth trembled unbidden by a new assault of strong emotions.

The worm stirred.

She had to turn her face away and almost force the laugh.

"I have nothing against his work." She said lightly. "I just don't consider Romeo and Juliet to be one of his Master pieces. A personal opinion of course. I have been told that I have no vision concerning such matters."

He didn't appreciate her play of words of course. He did not tolerate her making light fun of what the Opera had dubbed as her handicap.

"The boundary less love?" He questioned rather, keeping track of their previous conversation.  
Ann shook her head and turned back to him, her previous emotion under control.

"The foolish end of irrational passion."

She had realised that his amusement had been slipping but she did not expect it to suddenly disappear all together.

"Passion is sometimes irrational." He said almost harshly.

Ann flinched at his tone and immediately lifted her hands in a surrendering motion.

"I didn't mean it that way Monsieur." She said quickly. "I just did not like the story. They appear to have this perfect love, yet they die – it… I don't know. I am sorry Monsieur. I guess… Perhaps it is just because I did not appreciate the ending."

He hesitated and turned over her words.

"Neither did I." He said finally, the warmth returning to his voice, if not the amusement. "My apologies Ann."

They faced each other in silence before Ann laughed suddenly and made a motion to him with her one hand as she touched the statue again with her other.

"Please." She said. "Talk. You ceased to exist for a moment."

He chuckled softly and moved again so that she could hear the fabric of his clothes.

"I was afraid that this would happen." He said as he sat down again.

Following his example Ann slowly slid down the statue and sat down carefully.

"What do you mean?"

He grew quiet, and she could feel him turning over his answer and examining it before presenting it to her. She learned from his thoughtful conversation. It was a talent she had found herself wishing that she could pick up from him.

"That, if I taught you, we would not know…"  
He hesitated, but she could fill in what he meant.  
"What to do in each other's company?" She queried. "Monsieur, have no fear… I… It is not that." She sighed softly. "I do not wish to… sing. Today."

She could feel him frown at her.

The worm stirred again.

She had come to the Opera to sing, _ran away from home_, to sing.

_Julianne_ had felt that her actions were justified; she had done this to prove not only to herself that she could do it but to her family, her father, her mother, her…

She shook her head at herself again and ran her hand over her face in an attempt to find solace in a gesture she had all but lost here.

She turned her face towards the last place where she had sensed Monsieur Erik, who again, had become very quiet.

She shivered.

"Why are you troubled Ann?" His voice was still by the statue but it felt more distant, as if he was withdrawing himself from what might come his way.

But again, he had asked this question.

He had asked her what she felt.

He cared, she realised anew. He cared about her, and that made matters all the worse.

"I am… not troubled." She tried. "Unsettled today Monsieur. Afraid…"

"Of me?"   
His words had come so quickly, almost as if wrought by instinct.   
Two little words, but it took her some moments to realise what he had asked.  
Or implied.  
She laughed suddenly, an easy – light gesture which she could immediately feel lift his spirits.   
"Petrified." She answered. "Monsieur, I am terrified of you."

Monsieur Erik chuckled softly and she heard him get up. The fine material of his clothes rustled softly as he moved her. What she loved about him in a way was that, although she could sense him coming closer to her, she rarely heard his footfalls.

He stopped in front of her and, the further soft shift of clothes told her that he had hunched down in front of her.

She lifted her head and, in one brief moment, almost felt something brush against her cheek as if he had wanted to touch her face but could not quite make himself do so.  
Instead, she felt his familiar and comforting gloved hand settle on her shoulder and briefly rub her arm.  
"You should be Ann." He said softly, his voice suddenly very intense for the apparent light statement.

She smiled at him and shook her head. Touching his hand where she had felt it settled on her shoulder, she closed her eyes and rested her cheek against her own hand where it rested on his.

"I doubt it." She said. "I will never fear you Monsieur. For you. But never…"

Emotions stirred within her again.

The trapping guilt suddenly felt like a snake wrapped around her heart.

_I am lying to him._ She realised suddenly. _I am…_

The hand on her shoulder moved away from her touch and, in one heart stopping moment brushed her cheek.

Ann barely restrained herself from inhaling too deeply, shaken and almost exhilarated by the suddenness of the gesture.

His hand first trailed up her cheek, pushed some of her hair behind her ear then travelled down her face again until it finally settled around her neck.

Ann's breathing never changed, but she lifted her face to his as the pressure of his fingers increased slightly.

Seconds passed then, his touched vanished from her perception as she felt more than heard him settle back.

"You will never have to fear me Ann." He said suddenly. "Never, I promise you. Never."  
Ann's hand twitched with the abrupt urge to touch him, but she relaxed and shook her head.

"I won't."

He stared at her for a moment before she felt him relax.

"Come on." He said suddenly and rested his hand on her arm again.

"Let us go for a walk, I think – it will do us both good."

&&&

Madam Giry found her daughter sitting in her old office.  
The younger woman was going through some paperwork, her gaze focused on some seemingly unwelcome words. Her hair was unruly, as if she had been running her hand through it, and there was an ink smudge on her nose.

She glanced up into her mother's amused smile and glared in welcome.

"Haven't they given you an office of your own?" The older woman queried as she looked around for a chair that would do the least harm to herself and her clothes.

Meg shook her head and returned her gaze to the paper.

"They insist that I don't need one." She said. "And, when I use yours they have the audacity to become sarcastic about it."

Antoinette chuckled as she carefully lowered herself into one of the chairs on the opposite side of the table, deciding not to think of how much dust will show on her black dress.

"At least they're not ironic yet." She said lightly. "You should claim this office as yours Meg, I don't work here anymore."

Meg gave her mother a small smile and rested her hand on her chin as she regarded her.

"This place will remain yours long after the world has buried _me,_ Mère." She said dryly. "You will be interested to know… or perhaps not," the last was added as a slightly bitter afterthought, "that I found _them_ in your office shortly after the production of Faust."  
Antoinette blinked.

"The managers?" She queried. "Doing what?"

Her tone was too defensive for someone who had wanted to give up her office mere moments before.

Meg smiled slightly.

"Just sitting on the floor." She answered. "Looking a bit worse for wear I might add and extremely jumpy. They seemed very interested in the fact that I wanted to write some _letters_."

Antoinette still seemed put off.

"That doesn't explain what they were doing in _my_ office."

Meg Giry tapped her finger against her lip and fussed with some of the papers in front of her.

"I have my theories." She said hesitated, then dropped the next sentence like a well planned attack in an attempt to phase her mother.

"They made some very veiled reverences to some of the previous letters we use to receive from the Phantom." She frowned. "They implied that I had send some as a joke."

Antoinette's face was unreadable.

"And did you?" She asked lightly.  
Megan sniffed.

"Of course not." She said. "If they had received letters, Mother, it wasn't from me." She picked up some papers and then put them down again.

"I suspect that they were perhaps, looking for some of the original letters that are in my box. For comparison. If they _had_ received a letter."

She glanced at her mother to see whether the older woman showed any reaction but she just nodded in agreement.

After a long, expectant pause, Meg finally sighed and put her hand on another piece of paper.

"You are not going to tell me about the Phantom are you?"

Antoinette Giry's gaze was unyielding.

"When the time is right."

A flash of her previous temper showed behind Meg's eyes.

"And when will that be?" She snapped. "When somebody dies?"  
Her mother flinched but she shook her head.

"When the time is right." She insisted. "Not now Megan."

"Mother…"

"_No." _

Antoinette Giry drove her insistence home with a sharp tap of her walking stick against the floor.

Her daughter jerked in her seat and immediately dropped her gaze.

Inwardly flinching at the awkward silence between them, Antoinette let out a slow breath and started to push herself up.

"I should…" She began but after a pained look Meg waved her down.

"Stay Mama, please." She begged. "I'm… Sorry. That I'm difficult. Sit with me, I _have_ missed you."  
The older woman gave her a compassionate look and sat down again.

"I do understand your plight Megan." She said softly, trying to smooth things over. "I just don't see the need for you to be troubled right now."

Meg barked a dry laugh.

"Mother, look at me." She said. "I _am_ already troubled. And not just by this." She tapped the paperwork in front of her.

She paused for a moment, then allowed herself to relax and her mind step away from her mother's secrets.  
She fixed the woman with a pointed look.

"Tell me, as you're here, how did you justify the amount of shoes your ballet girls went through to them? I send an order form to them two weeks ago and just got it back. The note with it is less than gentlemanly."   
She passed it over the table at her mother's silent request.

Antoinette took out a pair of reading glasses and scanned through Monsieur André's script.

She smiled slightly and passed the note back.

"I take it that the Opera's finances are dwindling."  
Meg raised an eyebrow and shook her head. "I'd rather describe this Opera as a financial ship waiting to sink Mother." She said worried. "We have lost two major patrons in the past five years and the number of small ones are barely cutting it."

Antoinette sat back with a calculating look.

"This gala evening that you had held?"

Meg nodded and put down her paper. "Apparently they were approached by a few more people, but sadly none of the big names. I don't know how long this Opera will still continue Mother."

The previous ballet mistress nodded again, slower this time. There was a fleeting moment of worry when she considered the fate of the place which had been her home for almost three decades.

"Where is Julianne?" She asked, rather than addressing the subject.  
Meg gave her mother a pointed look.

The older woman made a sound in the back of her throat and smiled sweetly at her daughter.

"Where is _Ann?"_

Meg gave her a mock applause before she sighed and shrugged.

"Out." She said. "She does this; she can disappear for hours at an end, apparently walking through the Opera. _Or_, hanging out with a _young man _that nobody's seen her with."

Antoinette raised an eyebrow and gave her daughter a curious look.

"How long has this been going on?" She queried.  
Meg sighed and made a small hopeless motion with her hand.

"Since Faust."

Her mother nodded thoughtfully.

"And she has spoken to you about him?"  
Again, Meg made the small hopeless gesture.

"Certainly not." She said. "She knows I won't tolerate such… unsuitable behaviour Mother. Her mother would kill me and her father… Raoul has very high hopes for her."

There was a touch of bitterness in the current Ballet Mistresses tone.   
Antoinette snorted.

"So I've heard." She said dryly. "This _young man_, when did you come to know of him?"

Meg sighed again and glanced at her papers.

"During the Gala evening – she went to see him afterwards; you showed up when I was trying to confront her about it."

There was a sympathetic light in her mother's gaze when Antoinette glanced at her.

"Confrontation is not the right approach Meg." She said. "Tell me, was she meant to sing in the gala? I have been hearing stories…"  
Meg's frown turned darker when she shook her head.

"There is a touch of animosity between Ann and Sophia Carré, I believe you know her father, now – he had paid the managers a little bit more under the table to secure his daughter's role in the evening, also – with the _understanding_ that Ann will not participate."

"That is unfair."

"Apparently somebody else thought so too."

Antoinette pretended not to notice the veiled insinuation.

"Well, at least her talent did not go unnoticed." She said instead, watching how the words dragged another glare out of her daughter.

"That is what I am afraid of mother!" Meg snapped letting her temper go again. "She looks like Christine, she sings like Christine, he is still… What was I thinking?"

She laughed suddenly, bitterly – leaving her first sentence unfinished.   
"I love Julianne like my own Mère." She said finally. "I'm so afraid that I'll loose her. I lost Christine because of that man. I can't… Loose her daughter as well."

Antoinette regarded her own child with a silent, understanding compassion.

"In his defence…" She began hesitantly, knowing how dangerous those words were, "he didn't take her away. Raoul has some blame in that. He did not give her the opportunity to come back."  
Meg gave her mother a painful look and shook her head.  
"She didn't want to come back." She said. "And, she certainly didn't want her daughter to be here." She sighed and shook her head. "I'm worried about Ann, I am _so_ worried about Ann. What's more, it is… the time is approaching for her to go back home. To remember that she had a life there as well. And responsibilities. I just don't know how to break it to her."

Antoinette nodded slowly.

"I've been thinking about that." She said. "If you will, I'll break it to her. Have a talk with her. Grandmother to grandchild as the case might be."

There was a soft light in Meg's eyes as her expression picked up.

"Will you?" She queried. "Ann knows that I am keeping an eye on her. She's been… Distant towards me."

The older woman smiled in amusement.

"She is very perceptive."

Meg laughed softly and nodded, pride clearly radiating from her eyes.

"Too perceptive." She said. "But we can't deny her everything…"

&&&

Dust, and the occasional cobweb, tickled her nose and face.

Ann sneezed abruptly before she chuckled softly.

"Monsieur!" She exclaimed, her tone light. "When you claimed that you wanted to take me for a walk, I did not think that it would be on a cleaning spree! And my hair is most certainly not the world's best feather duster."

She felt his own silent chuckle vibrate thought the arm he had offered her, seemingly a carpet of cobwebs ago, and felt a shift on her head, presumably because he removed some of the residual spider homes from her hair.

"I have not passed here in many years." He admitted. "But I have to disagree with you about your hair. It has expertly attracted all manner of dust and arachnids."  
Ann blinked for a moment, then laughed suddenly.

"Monsieur," she laughed, "I believe that this is the lightest statement I have ever heard you make."

She felt him smile as more cobwebs were dusted from her face.

"Just a little bit further young Ann." He said. "Come on."

She smiled, pulled herself closer to him and allowed him to guide her further.

After a few more cobwebs and one or two sneezes from her they stopped.   
Monsieur Erik bid her to stay back a bit and fussed around. Ann heard him knock on a panel of wood, before something heavy scraped on the floor. Her cane, which he tends to hold when they walk together, was pushed into her hands.

"Stoop low," he directed her, "and walk about 7 steps forward. I have to keep the door open."

Ann grinned despite herself and, with childhood stories of secret passageways dancing through her head, she moved past him. She could feel the moment she entered the larger space and guessed from the draft that it was either a hallway or a very airy room. Moving her cane before her she walked straight on, feeling for a wall. After a few steps, a vibration down the cane, more than the sharp click from its tipped end told Ann that she had found what she as looking for. Behind her there was a hollow noise as Monsieur Erik closed the passageway behind them and her back tingled as she felt him look at her. She turned in his direction, smiled slightly and swept her hand across the pealing panelling, cracked paint or wall paper crumbling under her fingers. She shivered suddenly, her hand simultaneously brushing over the frame of a painting. She hesitated, glanced back to where he was and returned her attention to the frame.

"Someone has not cleaned here in…" she started, then hesitated. "A long time."  
He walked closer, his shoes making hollow sounds on the floor.

"No." He admitted. "I doubt whether anyone, save perhaps Madam Giry still knows about these parts. You can still reach them via… The normal ways. But, their entrances are hidden behind décor, statues. The times in which these were used, are the times in which shadow we now stand. Splendid times. When the Corpse de Ballet did not just cater from its current company of dancers, but taught young, aspiring dancers as well, some years short of their first performance." He sighed almost longingly as he stepped almost right up to her, his presence physically brushing against her. "Now, this place do not even have the man power to uphold the parts in use, much less those that now lay forgotten under years of dust and cobwebs." He made a sound in the back of his throat, whether out of sadness or disgust Ann could not tell.

She shifted closer to him, her fingers exploring the old frame.

"You were here in those times?" She queried softly.

He hesitated before he nodded – slowly, almost humbly.

"I have seen many things." He mused, almost to himself. "Things I should never have been privileged to."

She couldn't place the emotion exactly, but she almost sensed regret behind those words. The regret brushed her heart and almost unknowingly she dropped her one hand to his, finding it almost immediately.

"I should not have been here." She said. "But I am. So this, this time is a privileged, even though I was not… Meant to be here. Monsieur, I do not believe that anyone can say that they should not have been privileged to something. Everything is a gift, even sadness or dis…" the word struggled over her tongue. "Disability. I feel that…" She stopped, blushing. "I am making a fool out of myself through showing how naïve I am." She dropped her face and let go of his hand. He allowed her touch to slip away, having stiffened when her hand found his but she did not sense diverge over what she had said. They stood in silence, until his hand found the crook of her arm. She was reminded of the way he had touched her on the roof, how his hand had travelled to her neck.

She hoped that the hallway was dark for the heat creeping up her face could not be excused through silly profound statements. She turned back to the painting, her one hand still resting on its edge.

"Tell me about these." She requested, her fingers trailing to the corner. She did not have a taste for portraits, but she had to pull her attention away from him.

She did not know where his focus was because it took him a moment or two to reply to her request.

"These portraits?" He queried, his voice far away. "Wh… Of course." He hesitated, probably studying the one she was touching. "The one you are touching was painted by an English woman, Blanche Glover." Again he paused as if struggling to comprehend why she wanted to know, or how to explain to her. "It's from the 1850's. Her paintings are rare and profound. She never sold one in Brittan. Some of her subject matter was too explicit for the English. I do not know how this one came to the Opera."

Ann grinned slightly and turned back to him.

"Explicit?" She queried.  
He smiled at her but only offered one word. "Alternative."

Ann had to smile back. "Ever the gentleman." She mused. "This is no time for such propriety Monsieur. We are in the wrong already."

He was startled.

"Pardon?"

Ann grinned at him and turned her unseeing eyes back to the wall.

"A gentleman your age and apparently single stature accompanying a younger maiden to a secluded, private place. More than once." She waved a finger at him. "Hardly appropriate without a consort."

She realised quite suddenly as she said those words that he might take it completely the wrong way but to her relief Monsieur Erik chuckled softly and, she suspected, nodded to himself.

"I have thought of this." He said. "My idle usage of the 'young man' persona had been too careless. If it has done any damage to your reputation, I apologize."

Ann laughed warmly and shook her head.

"I doubt Monsieur." She said. "Though I suspect that might be what my Aunt is worried about. The only reputation I have ever had, was of being too quick with my tongue, too unladylike," she hesitated and touched her face, "and blind. One attribute, one flaw according to our supposed 'proper society' can scar you for life." She traced the outline of her face, almost as if her sightlessness was a physical trait that she could feel.

A void grew between them, unbidden, a void filled not with silence – but rather _anything_ to say. Ann felt him drew back, feared that she had said too much, then felt the familiar weight of his hands on her shoulders.

"I understand." He said simply, his voice filled with so much emotion that it nearly overwhelmed her. "Young Ann…" He hesitated, sighed. "I understand."

Ann breathed deeply with relief and without thinking leaned back against his hands for support.

"I thought I said too much there." She muttered to herself. "Thank you Monsieur."

He did not say anything but the pressure on her shoulders increased slightly.

They stood in quiet until Ann grew restless.

She laughed softly and stood up straight.

"Now this is very inappropriate." She said with a laugh. "Again, I must ask your forgiveness Monsieur, my thoughts dwell in unwelcome places today." She stepped closer to the wall and touched the old frame of the painting.

"I like this." She stated spontaneously and grinned, almost mischievously. "This is a beautiful painting. The atmosphere…" She flourished her hand in the air before turning to him. "Shall we continue?"   
She could feel him looking at her again, the smile that was undoubtedly on his face radiating towards her like a wave of companionship.

"You do not want to know what's in the painting?" He queried amused.

Ann made a dismissive gesture.

"Why spoil it?" She queried. "I would like to know more of Blanche Glover though, she seemed like a free thinking English woman."

His hand slipped back into the crook of her arm and slowly guided her forward as he retook possession of her cane.

"By their standards," he began amused, "she was a recluse in shared solitude if you will."

Ann blinked at the term.

"Shared solitude?" She queried. "You mean…"

"I would rather not you share that Monsieur. She is a lady of supposed virtuous nature."

The voice startled them both.

Ann gasped startled and turned around but even as she did, Monsieur Erik pulled her closer, protectively and turned as well to face the newcomer.

Ann's senses, rattled by surprise, placed a name to the voice almost panicky.

_Aunt Meg!_ Her mind snapped at her.

"Madam Giry." Monsieur Erik's voice vibrated against her hand. She had not realised that she had placed her hand over his chest. There was no menace in his tones, only caution.

The woman snorted and moved closer. "Monsieur."

There was a heavy tap of wood on floor that Ann could identify as a cane that was heavily leant on.

Her panic disappeared, but she did not feel relief.

Antoinette Giry. Not Meg Giry.

She sometimes had trouble distinguishing female kin.

"These passageways are not completely forgotten." The woman was now almost with them. "And as accessible to us as to you Monsieur. Hallo Ann."

The young woman dropped her head and took a step back from Monsieur Erik, her face suddenly burning with embarrassment.

"I… We were not…" She didn't know how to explain herself in his presence.

The woman chuckled softly. "Of course not child." She said. "I trust this man with you."

Something passed between the two people with her. Ann wasn't sure what it was and she wasn't entirely sure that she was comfortable with it.

Monsieur Erik stepped away from her, his presence almost completely closed to her. She could not feel any emotions from him.

"I have come for my granddaughter." Antoinette Giry continued. "We have not spent any time together since I came and, as I have heard that she has a habit of disappearing for the whole day, I thought that I would come and look for her."

Ann's heart beat against her chest as she turned to her silent companion.

"Monsieur Erik knows that you are not my grandmother."

She didn't know what else to say. The silence from Monsieur Erik and the unexpected and unwanted arrival of Madam Giry made her feel as if she was stuck between two poles drawing her and that she had to fight against one of them.

She could feel the smile on the woman's face, but it did not warm her heart like Monsieur Erik.

"Does he now?" She mused. "Well then, if not for his sake, then for the masquerade that you uphold in front of this Opera I suggest you come with me. You will see Monsieur Erik again, undoubtedly. I would like some time with you."

Ann opened and closed her mouth before she turned back to Monsieur Erik, her unknowing eyes begging him to say something.

"Go with her Ann."

When his words came she almost wish that he hadn't spoken. The balance she felt shifted.  
Antoinette Giry now had all the cards.

Ann sniffed and scrubbed her hand through her hair. Shooting him a hurt look she started towards the woman. From the distance, he pushed the top of her cane into the hand that hung limp at her side. She sniffed again, angry – but turned around despite of herself to show him a grateful look, despite the temper smouldering in her eyes. His presence held her gaze in silence before he turned, and was gone.

She sensed it, but did not hear him leave.

&&&

Looking at the child of Christine Daee and Raoul de Changy, Antoinette Giry could not believe that anyone, her Phantom including, could have missed that she was their daughter. She had Christine in her face and Raoul in her eyes and, although the mixture of facial lines and combination of features had given her a unique look she made one think immediately of the two lost lovers who had lost their innocence at the hands of a supposed madman. The same madman who now had his attention fixed on this young woman, this Julianne Christine de Changy.

Perhaps, Antoinette Giry thought as she sat back against the chair of the cab, she was being biased. Perhaps she knew them too well.  
But, she knew them as well as _he_ did.

Certainly the man who had been obsessed with Christine to a point of lunacy which had driven him to the murder would be able to spot her kin.

Ann le Roux.

She snorted softly and felt the girl's blind eyes turn towards her.

Julianne's face was unreadable, but Antoinette could still see the residual effect of her temper nestled behind her crystal blue orbs.

"You are upset that I stole you away?" She queried, keeping the amusement from her voice.

Julianne sniffed, glared slightly but shook her head. "There will be other days." She said lightly and turned to the window. Antoinette could sense the unsaid words.

"But you are just not sure how many." She finished the sentence.

The young woman's head snapped back towards her but she didn't say anything.

Rubbing her hand over her face in a practiced movement she visibly pulled herself out of her thoughts and, instead of replying rather asked a question.

"You know Monsieur Erik?"

Antoinette could not help but smile slightly, if sadly at the inflection Julianne placed on his title. The titles master, teacher and lord were often said with that same tone.

She turned her own gaze out of the window, feeling no compelling to look at Julianne. "I use to." She said. "Time changes people."

Julianne puzzled over her words, her fingers tapping a brief rhythm on the surface of the cane. Her eyes turned darker as she gazed somewhere round the old Ballet Mistresses knee.

"He… He is a changed man. He is a good man Madam Giry."

Antoinette gave her reflection a curious look.

"Why do you feel the need to defend him?" She queried.

The young woman's face was troubled.

"Because he told me that… his presence is not approved of in the Opera, especially not by my aunt. I… You haven't told her?"

Antoinette laughed softly and shook her head.

"Your aunt already suspects Julianne." She said, stressing the name. "She is no fool."

The child blushed.

"I did not imply that she was." She said. "I just…" She sighed and trailed off.

The older woman studied her critically, before taking note of where they were.

"What has… Monsieur Erik told you about himself?" She queried in a distracted tone of voice.

Again, Julianne shifted uncomfortably.

"Very little." She said, but it didn't seem to bother her. "I never asked. It's only fair."  
The older woman looked directly at her.

"And what does he know about you?" She queried, taking note of how Julianne immediately reacted to her gaze.

"Of me nothing." She said bitterly. "And very little of Ann le Roux as well."

"Are they not the same person?"  
A look of longing entered her blue orbs.

"I wish they were."

The cab stopped.

Julianne dropped her head and closed her eyes in an instinctive motion to try and hear the sounds around her.

"We are at the train station." Antoinette told her as the door was opened for them. "I thought that we'd take a train to the nearest small town, the closest is an hour away by track."

Julianne did not react to the news and just shook her head, but not in disagreement.

Both women waited for the driver to assist them out of the cab.

When they were settled and the driver paid Antoinette linked arms with Julianne and steered her towards the busy station.

She noticed the sudden jerkiness in her movements and noticed the uneasy way Julianne's head turned from one direction to the other. She felt a moment's pity for the blind youth, realising that – although she would probably never admit it – public places must be very bewildering.

Her cane made wider sweeps in front of her and Antoinette remembered in time not to hold her to close to allow Julianne some manuver movement of her own.

They walked in a concentrated silence up to a lamp post on the platform.

Antoinette touched it lightly then moved her hand from Julianne's elbow to her wrist.

"Here." She said gently. "Do you feel that?" She placed the child's hand on the lamp post.

Julianne nodded in concentration and unconsciously pulled closer to the pole.

"A lamp post or a pole." She said idly, her voice belying none of the tension that had settled in her face.  
Antoinette smiled at her. "Stand here and wait for me." She said gently. "I will go buy our tickets."

The young woman nodded tensely and leaned against the pole, turning her head this way and that as she listened to the sounds around her.

Antoinette squeezed her hand and hobbled off towards the ticket booth.

_What a pair we make._ She mused to herself as she fell in line and glanced back to see whether Julianne was still at the post.

_A blind girl and a crippled woman._

Christine's daughter showed no outward signs of stress but her body was pressed tightly against the post.

It was just past midday and the platform was swarmed with people.

Antoinette had to admit to herself that she could've chosen a better time for this outing as she moved forward slowly in the long queue, leaning heavily on her cane.

&&&

Ann leaned heavily on her cane as she pressed her body against the post where Madam Giry left her.  
She did not sense good things coming from this outing and she felt unbalanced knowing that she had been seen with Monsieur Erik. He had drilled the secrecy of their meetings into her almost from the first day they met, if not by words then by his silence and outright refusal to be anywhere near any of the other staff members.

Knowing that Antoinette Giry had seen them together, in _that_ moment when they were so comfortable with each other…  
Ann blushed and felt a moment's irritation.

How dare he just hand her over to her? She fumed. He did not have the right to command her like that. And, she sniffed, what had passed between him and Antoinette Giry. She was certain that she felt something.

She sniffed again and rubbed over her cane.

Silly old woman, and silly secretive man. She muttered in her mind.  
And silly Ann for…

The hand the slipped into the crook of her elbow was not Madam Giry's.

Her head snapped up.

"_Hallo Julianne de Changy." _


	20. 19 Christine's Daughter

**Chapter 19: Christine's Daughter. **

_Her dark, grey streaked hair tumbled down her back in a lustrous wave. _

_A woman sat in the upper story window of a 17th Century French Chattue - its shutters thrown open to allow as much light as possible to enter the spacious room. Below her, dark red roses gazed up towards the casement, their colours so demanding that they were almost palatable. _

_She did not look at them though, for all the attention they demanded, and rather focused her interest on the letter in her hand.  
_'We are safe and returning from Scotland.'

_The words leapt out at her like so many times before. _

'I am not sure how long the journey will take, Phillip's father is completing some of his business, and he mentioned something about Edinburgh, but I am sure that we will be back at their estates within a few weeks. Please do not worry Maman, I am safe.

Your loving daughter,

Julianne.'

_She read the last few words over and over again, disregarding the terribly script of Julianne's slightly younger friend Phillip. _

I am safe.

Your Loving daughter.  
Julianne.

"Julianne." She _whispered softly and brought the paper to her lips as if it would allow her to draw closer to her eldest child. _

_The words did not still her fear, nor did it quench the trepidation throbbing in her heart but at least it brought some form of comfort, some form of relief that her daughter was still out there and that she was at least having a good time. The steady, if much delayed supply of letters kept the worst of the panic at bay. _

_They did not know how Julianne had managed to organise her flight all by herself and her husband had suggested more than once in one of their more heated arguments that her long time friend, Megan Giry, had something to do with it. _

_As much as she tried to keep Meg from being incriminated, Christine couldn't help but wonder. _

_Julianne idolized the woman and, with the help of her old nurse, kept in constant contact with the spinster. _

_Constant, _unsupervised_, contact as her husband pointed out more than once. He made it very clear on a number occasion that he did not approve of his daughter's association with the Ballet Mistress. For all their smiles and pleasantries, Meg and Raoul never got on. There was a tension between them, both acting as if the other had something that didn't belong to them. _

_Meg was also very vocal about her thoughts on Julianne's future. _

_The words – Let Her Be – came up in more than one conversation that usually led either to Meg's untimely return to her work or an unplanned meeting between Raoul's friends that required him to leave the house for a few days._

_She understood where Raoul's suspicion came from, it seemed almost impossible that Meg would not know of Julianne's flight. But, she knew that Meg would never let Julianne come to harm. _

_Christine sighed as she ran her thumb over the edge of the paper. _

_The motivation behind their actions was love, she knew this, but it hurt to know that her two oldest and dearest companions – her best friend and her spouse, could not get on. _

_Julianne pretended to be happily oblivious to it, something she was very good at in general, but Christine always noticed that she spend some extra attention on her father when her unofficial Aunt left. _

_The woman smiled gently, her daughter was very perceptive. _

_Her daughter.  
The words had engraved itself in her soul when she first held the tiny bundle of life in her arms and had forged itself in tears when they realised that she was blind. _

_Unknowingly, her eyes left the letter and turned to the roses crying for her attention. _

_They bloomed up at her, they taunted her, and they enslaved her very being. _

_Raoul disapproved of them as well but, he did not stop her from tending to them. _

_He had no right… _

_A sound attracted her attention but she paid it no mind.  
The white Andulusian charged into the courtyard. _

_&&&_

She was there.  
He knew it.  
She was there, amongst _his_ roses, walking _his_ hallways, tasting _his_ mouth on her lips.

And he couldn't do anything about it.  
Vicomte Raoul de Changy knew that she wasn't his.

They were married, and they were happy, but she wasn't his.  
She had chosen the monster to save his life, but in turn – as that beast released her from his side, something neither of them thought he would capable of, he had sealed her heart to his.

He had not noticed it in the beginning.

They had been so happy, and so determined to shake of the shadows of the Opera. When their first child was born, eleven months after they were married, he couldn't help but think that they had managed to rid themselves completely of the place.

But then, eight months later it felt as if their world came to a grinding halt and slowly but surely returned to the shadows from which they had fled.  
Julianne, his first child, the little being who had claimed him from her first cry, was blind.

Cursed to struggle forth her whole life in a world that shunned imperfection.

Christine had been quiet about the diagnosis and refused to discuss it. Then, shortly after Julianne's first birthday she started on her rose garden.

_He_ came back into their house, like the frustrated wail of a sightless child and the pungent fragrance of roses in full bloom.

And now…   
Hate, loss and anger burned inside him as he left his horse to the grooms and stormed into the house.

He went to Christine immediately and found her sitting just as he had seen her from the courtyard, her gaze focused on the garden. She didn't even look up as he entered.

Raoul took a moment to study his wife.

He remembered the young Little Lotte whom he had met on the beach, who knew nothing of the evil in the world except her father's growing weariness.

Then, the young woman he met again in the Paris Opera house, a young woman who was familiar with death, but naïve enough to believe that her father's ghost was teaching her to sing.  
A ghost, an angel – a monster.  
The monster that was responsible for the woman who now sat before him.

Beautiful still, but subdued by life and starved by a hunger she didn't even know she had.

She never sang in public again.

The woman in front of him, with faint lines of sorrow around her eyes, isolated herself from anything musical for almost two years after they left Paris. She would have undoubtedly upheld her isolation had it not been that they discovered that music soothed their slow developing and very frustrated toddler.

Julianne had been difficult in her first year and a half of life. She had showed no interest in the world around her, cried for hours at end, threw screaming fits and refused to be soothed by anyone including her parents and then… Then – one day out of pure frustration, Christine - holding the screaming child to her chest - started singing about the Angel of Music.

That day was still vivid in his mind, how his blood had run cold at the sound of her voice at exactly the same moment he felt the warm rush of relief when he heard Julianne's frantic wails slowly subside.

The moment had been the catalyst and pretty soon, as Julianne's curiosity and interaction with the outside world grew, so did Christine's confidence in her own voice. They had a revival in their life and in their marriage and Christine, although she still did not make her skills public, poured everything she knew into tutoring their daughter.

Standing there, watching Christine overlooking her rose garden, a letter crumbled in her lap, he cursed that day.

He walked closer and stopped an arm's length from her.  
She still did not react to his presence and only when he called her name, clearly – but only once, did she blink and drop her gaze from the roses.

She took a few moments to gather herself and slowly smoothed out the crumbled letter in her lap. She looked up and met his gaze, her gentle love for him slowly replacing the echo of guilt.  
"Raoul." She said softly, before she smiled at him. "I got another letter from Julianne. I think it's terribly late again. She says that she is well…"

The gentleness in her eyes vanished as she looked at his stoic features.

He looked at her for a long time before he produced a letter of his own.  
"She is _there_."

Christine did not take the letter, nor did she look away from his face.  
She knew immediately, he could tell.  
A silent scream build up behind her eyes before she blinked and turned to the roses.

The letter she held tore in her hands.

&&&

When she turned around, tickets in hand, Julianne was gone.

Madam Giry looked around startled, searching for her dark haired charge. With her heart beating an erratic taboo in her chest she put both the tickets and her change back into her purse and made her way across the platform as quickly as possible. She cursed her timing suddenly because two other trains had just stopped on separate tracks and, the people spilling out of them caused a sea of faces to scan and chaotic mass to manoeuvre through.

"Julianne!" She called above the piercing whistle of the trains. "Julianne!"

Knowing it was futile she went back to the lamp post where she had left the child. As she reached it she noticed that quite a small crowd had formed there. Feeling alarmed, Madam Giry hurried over and pushed through the onlookers. It was in times like this, when she could use her cane as motivation to get people to move where she wanted them to, that she didn't mind being old.

Reaching the post she felt a rush of relief when she saw Julianne hunched on the floor clutching her chest – her hand pressed tightly over her face. She had managed to push her body against the bench next to the lamp post.

A gentleman with a thick black moustache and a top hat, together with a finely dressed woman were trying to talk to her but she refused to acknowledge their presence.

"What's wrong darling?" The woman was asking, her hand tentatively touching Julianne's hair. "Are you with someone? Rene, try to find out if she is with someone."

The gentleman had his own ideas and was trying to get his arm around Julianne's back so that he could pick her up.

"Let's take her to the Station Master." He was saying. "Work with me here _bien-aimé_, I think she is having some type of fit…"

Antoinette managed to tap him on the back with her cane.

"She is with me." She said quickly. "Will you stand back please?"

Another prod with her cane got the man moving and a stern look made his companion back away as well, if somewhat reluctantly. They stood back and started to tell the people watching to move away.  
Antoinette paid them no mind as she looked at the stricken blind child, feeling suddenly very inept to handle her.  
Julianne was as pale as a sheet. She did not shake, or cry, or even move but had seemingly shut herself out from the outside world. She was clutching her cane to her chest and had her other hand firmly pressed over her eyes.

The old woman hesitated, unsure of how to proceed.  
"Julianne." She said firmly. "Julianne, come on child…"  
At the sound of her name Julianne jerked her head up and seemingly scanned the crowd.   
"Madam Giry." She managed and reached out blindly. "Madam Giry…"

Antoinette immediately took her hand and braced herself on her cane as the girl got up unsteadily. She pressed herself against the ballet mistress and lowered her head as the old woman gently put her arm around her.

The woman who had hunched next to her stood closer and rested a hand on Julianne's shoulder.  
"Is she alright Madam?" She queried. "What happened, Mademoiselle?"

Julianne didn't say anything as she took the moment of comfort from Madam Giry until she finally stepped away. Pale and shaking she smoothed out her dress and tried in vane to pull what was left of her dignity together.

Madam Giry gave her a critical look and glanced at the station clock.  
"I think I can handle this." She told the woman, but not unkindly. "Thank you for your help, we have a train to catch."

She linked arms with Julianne who automatically fell in step next to her.

As she guided them over to where they departed, Madam Giry caught the gaze of a young blond man in the crowd. His grey blue eyes smiled at her coldly, before he turned away and walked to where the carriages were waiting.  
Next to her, Julianne shivered.

&&&

Although her face was placid, Julianne's hands shook as she clutched them in her lap.

Now safely in the train Madam Giry sat back with a sigh and rummaged in her bag, looking out of the window as the train started pulling away.

"I do not think that drinking is a very good habit." She said as she produced a silver flask. "But I find that sometimes, sipping can be very helpful…"

She leaned forward and pressed the tiny flask into Julianne's hands.

The young woman briefly explored its shape before she blushed.

"I'm… I… No thank you." She tried to give the flask back to the woman but the old ballet mistress shook her head before she realised it was a bit of a wasted gesture.

She pushed the flask back.

"Just a sip." She said. "I won't take it back until you do."

Julianne's blush deepened as she fumbled to unscrew the top and took a meagre taste.

She took a sharp breath and coughed.

"Last year Christmas," she began hesitantly as she cleared her throat and held the bottle in front of her, "my brothers kept filling up my wine glass without me noticing. I thought I was having one glass…" She blushed. "My father had to carry me up the stairs. I couldn't navigate around the carpets."

Madam Giry couldn't help but chuckle at the image when she took the bottle from her charge's hands and was glad to see that Julianne chuckled with her. Her shoulders began to relax and her hands lay still in her lap.

"The following day must've been hard." The older woman commented, earning a sharp laugh from Julianne.

"I stayed in bed all day." She chuckled. "My nurse Greta wasn't very sympathetic though, she made sure I learned a lesson that day. Even if it was just never to drink more than two or three sips of wine to be polite. My mother was so angry with my brothers. They were in so much trouble the next day." She sighed softly and ran her hand over her face.

Madam Giry watched the gesture and kept her eyes on Julianne's hands.

"You must miss them." She commented carefully. "You have not been home in many weeks."

As she suspected, Julianne's placid expression never wavered but her hands twitched and balled into fists.

"This has been the longest I've been away." She said ambiguously. "It's been an experience."

The woman raised an eyebrow.

"A lonely one?"

Julianne blinked suddenly and sniffed.

"Is this about Monsieur Erik?" She queried sharply. "Are you acting as voice for my aunt?"

Her crystal blue eyes flashed sharply as she glared at a spot somewhere around Madam Giry's chest, reminded of the anger she had felt in the Opera.

The woman shook her head out of habit but also immediately touched the girl's knee.

"I am nobody's voice." She said. "I do not share your aunt's negative perception of this relationship. And, don't fool yourself Julianne de Changy, she knows with whom you are associating yourself with. She is just not ready to admit to her self that she knows."

Julianne sniffed again, refusing to acknowledge the hand on her knee.

"Their history has nothing to do with me." She said shortly. "Monsieur Erik is the best friend I have ever had. I came to the Opera to find myself. To figure out what has been going on in my life and where I wanted to be before I was pushed there by forces outside of my control. He believed in me Madam. He helped me in so many ways. I can not believe that Aunt Meg is being so stubborn about this."

Antoinette Giry grunted softly.

"Secrecy is rewarded by stubbornness young Ann." She said. "You have not been honest with your aunt."

Julianne blushed deeply but did not show remorse as she sniffed and turned her face to the window.

"Nor has she been with me." She said shortly. "There are a lot of secrets in that Opera Madam Giry. Aunt Meg has kept just as much from me as I have kept from her, including the fact that the ghosts of my parents seem to haunt that place. Every single ballet girl knows the name of Christine Daae. I ask you why?"

A bit taken aback by the sudden turn in conversation Madam Giry took a few moments before she responded.

"How much have you heard?" She queried neutrally.  
As quickly as it came, some of the fierceness left Julianne's eyes as she shrugged and sat back.

"Nothing really, just the most absurd stories. I made a point of not listening." She sniffed. "I do not believe in ghost stories."

Feeling strangely relieved Madam Giry nodded to herself.

"Nor do I." She said lightly. "Nor did I bring you here to discuss them Julianne. Or Monsieur Erik. He is your business and whatever happens between you two and your Aunt is your own responsibility. I have made that very clear to her. She brought you here, there for; she is responsible for what ever happens while you are here."  
Julianne frowned slightly and shook her head.

"Nothing will happen, Madam Giry."

The old woman shrugged, even though the gesture was wasted on the young woman.

"Be that as it may." She said as she looked to the passing country side. "You must just please do me a favour and remember that, what ever happens – even if it is just nothing, that it will affect Monsieur Erik as well."

Julianne frowned puzzled, not sure where the woman was going with this.

"I will never hurt him." She said, almost defensively.  
Again, the older woman raised an almost amused eyebrow.

"Of course." She said. "You do of course remember that you won't stay at the Opera forever."

The words did not have the effect on Julianne as she had anticipated. Instead of being surprised by the subject, Julianne face contorted with the same haunted expression she had seen at the station and unbidden her hand travelled to her face.

The silence grew almost drowning before Julianne nodded, ever so slightly.

"I know."

Her one hand travelled to the crook of her elbow and grasped it…

&&&

The hand the slipped into the crook of her elbow was not Madam Giry's.

Her head snapped up.

"_Hallo Julianne de Changy." _

At the voice, Ann's mind went completely blank. Visions of her previous attackers vanished as her heart skipped a beat and her breath caught in her throat.

_No… _

"Is it necessary for me to introduce myself?" The voice queried, the French perfect. "I won't be surprised, it has been so long."   
The hand tightened on her elbow.

Panicked emotions vibrated across her mind along with embarrassment. She knew her face was as hot as it has ever been in this man's company.

"Ah, no Monsieur." She said. "It… It is not necessary. Bonjour Monsieur Mackenzie. It, it has been long."  
The man chuckled softly, a sound that has always made her uncomfortable.

"Your talents never cease to amaze me." He complimented her suavely. "I did not think that you would know who I am."

She tried to force smile on her face and a light laugh, which failed horribly, as her one hand unconsciously searched for a fan she didn't have.

She has always had one at her disposal in this man's company.

"Of course not Monsieur." She tried lightly. "I would always know who you are. I am… How are you?"

Madam Giry.  
Where was the woman?

"I am well." He replied in the same smooth tone. "And, might I say you look just as well, almost radiant. I did not expect to see you here. What has Paris done, to deserve the pleasure of your company?"

Scream, cry – she wasn't sure what she would do first.

"I sing at the Opera house." She said without thinking. "I… Am in the choir."

Monsieur Mackenzie moved so that he stood closer to her, pressing his side against hers – a gesture that must've seemed very intimate.

She knew that he could feel every inch of her shake.

"Le Opéra Populaire?" He queried surprised. "What a coincidence! I was there a few evenings ago at the Gala evening. I saw a girl who looked almost just like you, though – she sang next to the diva, Signora Romano."

Her cheeks were throbbing and, for some reason, her mind turned to Monsieur Erik – a only that made her embarrassment even greater.

"That… ah…" She was breathless. "That was me Monsieur. I… I sang with Signora Romano."

She could feel his grin, though it was anything but pleasant.

"How delightful. Your parents must be very proud."

Monsieur Erik remained on her mind and she felt herself clinging him like a vision about to flee.

"They… They are. They are very proud."

She felt his other hand move to her, first touching the arm he grasped then travelling down to her wrist where he briefly caressed her hand before he took the cane she grasped out of her iron grip.

Her heart once again skipped a beat as he momentarily held it away from her, probably studying it.

"Interesting." He murmured. "They told me that you were in Sweden, with some family of your deceased grandfather. From your mother's side. I did not know she had family."

She could not keep her now empty hands from shaking with emotion.

"I was… I mean… I… My father…"

She desperately wished from Madam Giry to come or Monsieur Erik.   
Anybody…

"Monsieur, I am not telling the truth."

"Oh?"

The embarrassment turned to shame, but not strangely at the liberty of this man.

What was she thinking?  
If Monsieur Erik showed up now. If he heard this conversation or met Monsieur Mackenzie.

"My parents, they do not know that I am here Monsieur." His hand squeezed her elbow almost painfully. "They think that I am in England, with some friends of the family. I ran away from home Monsieur."

There was a long silence in which the pressure on her arm did not decrease; to the contrary, she had to keep herself from pulling away from his grip.

"I see." He murmured softly. "Hopefully with the intention of coming back my dear, Julianne."

The way he said her name…

She bit her tongue in effort not to start crying.

"Of course Monsieur. I had intended to be back home by now, but because of the Gala evening… Everything was delayed. I am sorry. I did not mean any harm."

Around them, trains whistled as they stopped and the continuous bustle of people going about their day increased.  
Yet, between them the silence grew to drown out all the noise.

The world around Ann vanished as she waited for any response from the man next to her.

"I see." He said finally. "If that is the case Julianne, then I fear it is my duty to inform them – as soon as possible – that you are here. They must be out of their minds with worry – for surely they know by now that your visit to England is a hoax?"

Ann closed her eyes and tried to swallow down the tightness in her throat.

"I do not know Monsieur." She admitted. "I have not heard from them since I left home."  
The pressure on her arm became more than she could bear, but before she could pull away he released her suddenly.

"That is unacceptable Julianne." He said. "I expected more from a young lady such as yourself. Much less…"

"I know Monsieur." She said quickly, lest he should say it. She could not bear…

"I know Monsieur, I am deeply ashamed. I just had to take a moment… To get away. You know how my parents feel about Paris. I wanted to be here for myself, I did not mean any harm… Least of all to you."

She felt him smile again – a motion that send renewed shivers down her spine.

"Of course Julianne." He soothed. "I understand. You are here with someone?"  
She swallowed and refrained from rubbing her elbow, wishing for her cane.

"_Oui Monsieur."_ She said meekly. "She will becoming for me shortly, she only went to buy our tickets."

The man made a sound in the back of his throat.

"The ticket lines are terrible." He said. "You will undoubtedly wait a bit longer for her. Should I keep your company?"  
She could not make herself nod and he knew it.  
With a cold chuckle he turned and pushed her cane back into her shaking hands.

"Of course not." He said amused. "Ann le Roux has no reason to associate herself with François Mackenzie. I will take my leave Julianne, though I will keep an eye on you to make sure that you are safe."

Keeping her head down, struggling to hold onto her cane with her shaking hands, Ann nodded meekly.

"Merci Monsieur." She managed.

His cold smile touched her face. "It is my pleasure." He said and stepped so that he was in front of her. He dropped his voice.

"You should've come to me Julianne, if you wanted to get away. You should've included me in this foolish venture. I have already sent that letter."

She closed her eyes, unable to stop the tears from escaping.

"Oui Monsieur."

His hands grasped hers over her cane as he leaned forward and planted a kiss on each cheek, taking her tears with him.

"Au revoir…" He whispered. "For now."

She could not say anything as he stepped away but when his hands let go of hers they shook so much that she dropped the cane.  
Ann sank down on her hunches to pick up her fallen cane as he moved away from her, feeling the life she had as Ann Leroux – slowly slip away with him.

She fumbled around blindly before she finally found the cane and hugged it to her chest…

&&&

Antoinette Giry frowned as she looked at the girl, who was quite suddenly obviously far away in her head.

Her blue eyes stared blindly out of the window where she had rested her head back against the seat. Her face was placid, but she could see the reflection of unshed tears in her charge's eyes.  
Her hand, having first grasped her elbow now travelled up and down her arm as if she was trying to rid herself of something spilled on it.

The way she sat reminded Madam Giry of the events that had transpired before they got onto the train. The concern she felt then washed back over her and she found herself leaning forward to touch the young woman's knee.  
Julianne blinked startled and grasped her elbow tightly. Her eyes shot around and blindly searched in front of her.

"Julianne." Madam Giry said gently to gain her attention. "Julianne, what happened at the station? Why were you so upset?"

The girl blinked and visibly tried to gather her thoughts.

"People fussed." She muttered under her breath. "I wanted to sit down and I missed the bench. It was very disconcerting when everybody was suddenly around me. I… Panicked."

Her tone had become very blank and very casual, almost embarrassed.  
It screamed a lie.

Madam Giry almost shook her head when she noticed how Julianne had grasped her elbow.  
In one of her upwards sweeps she had drawn her shirt sleeves up with her.  
Angry red marks was forming on the pale inside of her arms The marks were almost a mirror image of the way Julianne currently grasped her arm.  
The woman blinked startled and studied the blind girl's face, seeing the remnants of the trail tears had left on her cheeks.

"You met somebody." She said blankly, without question or too much insistence. "Who was it? Did the person recognize you? It's important if they did Julianne."

The strange thing was that, as her head snapped up in Madam Giry's direction, Julianne's eyes immediately pinned her down.

She knew the girl was blind, but it was very disconcerting to suddenly be faced with the full force of her crystal gaze.

Her expression was harsh for a moment, and then – slowly, the self control she must've held onto from the moment they got onto the train started to slip.  
Her hands shook as they moved away from her elbow and reached for the cane as something to hold onto.  
She dropped her head and closed her eyes as she nodded, ever so slightly.

The older woman felt a touch of alarm.

"Who?" She queried softly.  
Julianne didn't appear to hear her immediately as her hand travelled up and down the dark cane with its silver angel figure.  
She turned her eyes upwards touched her face with her free hand.

Finally, after a long debate she sighed.

"It was Monsieur François Jacques Mackenzie." She said softly, panic and defeat fighting for dominance in her tone.

"My fiancé."

&&&


	21. 20 de Chagny's Legacy

**Chapter 20: de Chagny's Legacy. **

The Vicomte Raoul De Chagny pressed himself against the shadows of the dark passageway, staring - through a thin stream of water running down the edge of the roof – at a window in the building across from him. He found himself thinking about the events that had lead him here, on this day – to this place, and somehow – none felt as if it was his fault.

Months ago, when it first became clear to them that their daughter had run away he had insisted to Christine that they go to England and collect her from her friend Philippe's family. He also insisted that they write to Philippe's parents and in the very least enquire about their eldest health.  
But, his wife had discouraged him and told him that they owed it to Julianne to have a moment or two for herself.

"To discover the rest of the world." His wife had said.

Then, when her fiancé started asking about her whereabouts he once again demanded that they go to England and collect her, but by that time they had received the letter – telling them that she and the family had toured up to Scotland, and again the matter was postponed.  
Now, they stood on the brink of disaster.

_Now_ they find out that Julianne had been spirited away to the opera house, _the_ Opera House, by Mademoiselle Megan Giry – a woman known for putting her own needs in front of others wishes. He never encouraged their friendship and in later years he started to outright disapprove of it.

Meg Giry was a loose cannon, a woman who kept associating herself with the bane of their past and who always gave the impression that she took a Monster's side to his.  
No, he decided. Meg Giry was to blame for all of this.

_But_.

There was more of course.  
He looked up at the window, waiting.

He also felt as if this was somehow his own family's fault that he was here, on _this_ day, for _this_ reason.

He should never have been the man he was today.  
Never.

As the youngest of four children he should never have been in line to inherit the family fortune.

His mother, the Comtesse de Changy, _née_ de Moerogis de La Martyni, had died giving birth to him and his father, the strict and old Counte Philibert had died when he was barely 12 years old. He had not mourned the loss of both his parents as others felt he should've. His father had been distant and dismissive towards him and he had spend most of his youth on the apron strings of an old aunt and under the ever watchful eyes of his two older sisters who were separately 5 and 8 years his seniors.

At the death of his father, with his brother, then 32 – had become head of one of the most prestigious and oldest families in France. Realising that it would not be an easy task to manage the large estate, Phillipe Georges Marie Comte de Changy had tried to convince his siblings to split it up but they would not hear of dividing the estates and felt comfortable to leave their shares entirely in their brother's hands.  
When the two sisters married, Phillipe gave each their share in the form of a dowry.

As women they also had it easy, the management of those estates went directly to their husbands' care.

They never really saw the money.

Despite having the same inhibitions his father had to showing emotions Phillipe had spoilt Raoul, quickly realizing that the beautiful young man with his fair moustache, blue eyes and undeniable charm would be an excellent figure head for a family whose coat of arms dated back to the fourteenth century. Phillipe oversaw Raoul's education but somehow never thought to each him the management skills that one needed to run an estate as large as theirs. The older brother had never shown any urge to marry and Raoul had been quite content to accept that his brother would always be there to oversee his financial matters.

It was not meant to be.

Phillipe never saw Raoul marry Christine. Shortly after their escape from the Opera's clutches his brother died suddenly and without warning.

Raoul could never help but wonder whether or not it had not been from natural causes as the doctors loudly proclaimed.  
He sighed and wrapped his cloak around him.  
No, he decided as he noticed the light appear in the window.

None of this was his fault, but he was going to have to carry the blame and burden of it anyway.

&&&

Two days.

He stared at the painting, his eyes taking in the lines and contours of the two women's bodies – the way their hands moved towards each other, almost as if dancing, but not touching, never touching.  
They were having tea, in a garden.  
Talking perhaps.  
But never touching.

Shared solitude.  
He shook his head in wonder.

Blanche Glover, the English painter had shared her solitude with the poetess Cristobel la Motte. They never publicly acknowledged a romantic relationship of any sorts, but it was well known that when Cristobel la Motte disappeared from the public eye for a number of months, Blanche Glover committed suicide.  
Two days.  
He liked the word somehow.  
Shared solitude.  
It made him think of Ann and himself in a way.

Each of them had a solitude that they carried with them, something painful, something that set them apart from the rest. He knew that deep down, neither knew the other's bane but – they could understand it. And, in that – they shared their solitude.  
He had difficulty imagining his life without Ann le Roux.

It scared him.  
He had not seen her in two days.  
She did not come back to him after Antoinette Giry whisked her away from his side – but he had expected it because he could see that Ann had been very angry with him for letting her go.

But, the next day came and went and Ann still didn't show her face. Nor did Antoinette Giry for that matter, but he did not seek her out.

Now, on the eve of the second day he started to feel a touch of trepidation.   
What had Antoinette Giry told her of him or was Ann still just very mad at being made to do something against her will?  
Neither felt liable.  
Antoinette Giry served him and would not again betray his confidence and Ann never struck him as being so vindictive.

No.  
There must be something else.  
He turned and slowly started walking down the deserted corridor to the secret passageway he and Ann had used previously.

He wondered suddenly whether or not something had upset Ann on her trip with Antoinette Giry. Again, he wondered what Madam Giry had told her of him of his history.

What would Ann do if she knew he was a murderer?

He shivered and slipped into the secret passageway.

He had to go and see her.

&&&

For two days she had sat in her room crying.  
Crying because her world was shattering, crying because with every second she became less of whom she had been and more of who she should be.

It felt as if Ann LeRoux was dying.

Listening to the sounds she associated with the evening life of Paris Julianne sat with her head against the cold wall of her room.

It had finally dawned on her that her life at the opera house was drawing to an end when she and Madam Giry returned from their train trip around the city.

She had started crying as soon as Megan Giry met them but had at first refused to allow the older woman to console her.

"You want this." She had told her, unfairly, when they had reached their rooms. "You've been upset about me singing since the gala evening, you wanted this!"

She had then done something that she had very rarely done in her adult life. She had slammed the door in her aunt's face, stumbled to her bed and lay there crying until she didn't have the strength to anymore.

Her tears didn't dry up though.  
She didn't think that they ever would.

Her aunt had left her until that evening when the initial storm of her emotions had passed and Antoinette Giry undoubtedly informed her daughter of what had transpired.

Meg had entered her room without a word and, despite Julianne's stiff back and almost hostile silence, had slipped in next to her on the floor and just placed her arm around her.  
After several long minutes the younger woman had finally relented and allowed the woman to pull her into her lap.

"I never wanted it to happen this way." Meg had said softly, whilst smoothing her hair. "Not like this Julianne. Not like this. I'm sorry."

Julianne's grief had still been unforgiving then.

"This is your fault." She had hissed through uncontrolled, bitter tears. "You showed me this. You created Ann and now, they are coming, and _he_ knows, and I'll have to leave. I will have to leave Ann le Roux behind and _I can't do that_."

She knew that her aunt could say nothing to that and the woman didn't.   
Instead she had just held her as she cried, saying – over and over again…

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Julianne…"

Julianne de Changy shifted against the cold wall, feeling a fresh set of tears brim in her eyes. She rubbed at them bitterly, cursing that this was the only thing that her sightless orbs could do.

As she had told her aunt, she couldn't leave Ann le Roux behind.

But her reasons were far more complex than they should've been.

Julianne touched her ring finger vaguely whether or not she should put her engagement ring back on.

She had never really had an opinion about her engagement to Monsieur Francois Mackenzie.

He was one of her father's friends and was quite a number of years older than she was. He had never showed an interest in her during her youth, and she had almost felt daunted by his impatience towards her disability.

He never touched her, never spoke to her, never acknowledged her more than courtesy demanded.

Then, just past her eighteenth birthday, young Julianne suddenly became alive to him. He started escorting her around their estate grounds, spend long hours idly talking to her about mundane things, politics, finance, the management of his vast fortunes.  
There was never any warmth from him though, never a kind word or – as she felt it – true interest. He also barely tolerated her hobbies.

He didn't need to say anything for her to sense his disapproval every time she went out horseback riding with her brothers, even if the horse was on a lead, or even when she played piano.  
The latter almost hurt.   
Julianne was used to being praised for her talents in music and to have someone who barely appreciated a simple tune was unthinkable.

But, she made an effort for her parents' sake and never thought that anything would come from it because she could almost sense Monsieur Mackenzie's disapproval of her.

No one was more shocked than she was when he asked for her hand in marriage on her nineteenth birthday.

She couldn't speak for a week.

Inevitably she had to say yes.

Her father all but demanded it, her mother – although Julianne suspected that she herself didn't really approve of Monsieur Mackenzie, explained to her one evening in a quiet and determined voice that they wouldn't be able to take care of her forever and that she knew it was unfair to expect her brothers' future families to.

Monsieur Mackenzie was a good match; he was a powerful man and a friend of the family and would make sure that she was well provided for, for the rest of her life.

It was the first time in her life that Julianne started to feel like a burden and she gave her answer to Monsieur Mackenzie the next day.

Her family was delighted.

Her aunt Meg was furious.

She never understood Meg Giry's incongruity of her engagement or Monsieur Mackenzie, but then she never understood her aunt's barely contained hostility towards her father.

The following year passed slowly.

Monsieur Mackenzie was scarcer than he had been whilst courting her, her father was very busy with his work and managing their estates and her mother tried to teach her all she needed to know about being the wife of a wealthy business man.

All the while, Julianne felt as if something was slowly but surely being taken away from her.

Something she only found again when she became Ann LeRoux.

She closed her eyes and turned her face towards the cold wall, fresh tears flowing now unhindered down her cheeks as she listened to the rain outside.

A thought cut through her soul.

_He was going to hate her. _

And she didn't mean her future husband.

&&&

Megan Giry sat on the old settee by the door, her mother on the piano bench.

Both were staring at the door that led to the smallest room in the apartment, the grief behind it radiating through the entire room.

Antoinette Giry finally shifted and looked at her daughter, noticing with a pang of regret the worry etched on her face and the visible burden of her actions on her shoulders.

She felt for her daughter, because she had felt that same worry and that same burden, but she could not make this easier for her.

Like herself, Meg had caused her own grief had taken her own actions that led to this. She could not help her with that.

She sighed softly.

"What have you told the managers and Monsieur Reyer?"

Meg tore her gaze away from the door to her hands and sighed deeply.

"That there is a family emergency." She said slowly. "And that Ann will most probably not be staying here anymore. We're just waiting for further news before I send her home."

Madam Giry raised an eyebrow and nodded.

"Not far from the truth." She said softly. "What are you going to do about her?"

Meg shook her head at a loss, not looking at her mother.

"Let her cry. Let her come to terms with what has happened. Then… Send her home." She glanced at the woman. "What else can I do mother?"

The older woman shrugged but didn't say anything.  
Meg sighed and shook her head.

"You know why I did this." She said. "I didn't want Julianne to get married without ever having done something for herself. She was in a state the past couple of months, mother. Something had caused her to…" She shook her head. "I don't know – feel like a burden. For herself, I didn't want her to marry that man just to make sure that she is well taken care of one day. I want more for her."

"And you felt it was your right to give it to her?"  
There was a dry edge to Antoinette's voice that made Meg glare at her mother.

"I saw it as my duty mother." She snapped. "I love Julianne. She is meant for better _things_ than François Mackenzie."   
Madam Giry shook her head and opened her mouth to speak but a knock from the other door interrupted her.

The two Giry's frowned and Meg, after a glance at the standing clock, stood up and carefully opened the door.

One of the Opera cleaning staff's boys grinned up at her and indicated down the hall.

"There's a man for Madam at the main door." He said, his tongue sticking through the gap in his front teeth. "He has a message, but he didn't want to give it to mum."

Feeling a touch of trepidation Meg glanced back at her mother.

"I have to go." She said. "Will you keep an eye on Julianne? Find out whether she needs anything please?"

The older woman nodded.

"I think she needs to be left alone Meg." She said softly. "But, I'll keep an ear to the door. This message might be wearisome."

Meg gave her mother a fond smile of gratitude.

"Of late, my whole life is." She said. "I will see you in a moment mama."

Taking a shawl from the door, she followed the boy into the hall.

&&&

He expected a lot of things, but not this.

Slowly, carefully – he edged closer to the bundle in the corner of the dark room until he could feel the bed.

In the next room he could hear the Giry's talking about something in low voices but he paid them no mind.

Instead, he spoke Ann's name once, twice – but she did not reply.

Unsure of what to do, feeling his heart beating unnaturally fast with something that felt too much like fear, he sat down on the bed.

"Ann…" He tried again, softly. "Ann look at me." He felt stupid the moment he said it, but didn't allow the words to break his stride. "Ann, my dear Ann please…" He hesitated then reached out.

"_Feel me here."_

He enclosed his hand around her ankle and then slowly, unconsciously, ran his hand up till he touched her calf.

Ann shivered violently and turned a shocked expression in his direction. For once her eyes missed his face completely.

She took a breath to say something, but it got caught in her throat.

A strong pressure on his wrist was the first realization that he had that she had grabbed his hand.

With a strange spinning sensation in his head he tried to figure out what her intention behind it was. When he tried to pull away, her grip tightened.

"Monsieur…" She breathed finally when she had to let her breath out. "Monsieur, what are you doing here?"

When he looked at her face though, the spinning sensation stopped and he realised that there was no intention behind her touch, as there had been none in his.  
There was no place for anything other than sorrow behind her tear filled eyes.

He found his voice as he slowly took her hand with his other and sat closer to her.

"Why are you crying little Ann?" He queried gently. "What has broken your heart?"  
Her eyes found his after a strange wondering dance but she closed them and turned her head away from him.

"You should not have come here." She said her voice threatening to break into a barely contained sob. "You should not have come. My aunt…"

He enclosed her hand in his and squeezed it.

"I think she is leaving." He said, listening to the voices from the other room. "Ann, my dear Ann, what has happened to you?"

When she did not answer he increased his grip.

"Who has done this to you?"  
She stirred at the sudden change of his tone, tears now starting to flow freely down her cheeks again.

"Myself Monsieur." She said - her voice breaking. "I can't even be angry at Aunt Meg anymore… I did this to myself."

He could not accept that answer.

"Did something happen when you were with Madam Giry?" He insisted. "Ann, please tell me."

She could not.

The emotions she had been trying to control since he joined her broke to the surface. She tried to turn her body away from him as she started sobbing but he would not have it.

In a bi-polar gesture that felt equally natural and foreign to him he reached out and pulled her closer. Ann resisted at first but then slowly leaned towards him. When he managed to pull her to his chest she finally gave in and wrapped her arms around his chest.  
She cried for a long time while he held her, her head rested under the hollow of his chin.

&&&

Meg Giry wrapped the shawl around her as she stepped outside of the opera's safety. It was still raining, but her visitor refused to come into the shelter of the opera.

A young man, with the harass look that all messengers had, stared up at her from bottom of the stairs, his hands clutching an envelope in a waterproof lining.

"Are you Mademoiselle Meg Giry?" He queried in heavy French.

She smiled politely and nodded, ignoring the rain. "I am. I hear you have a message for me."  
The young man half bowed towards her and stepped closer, holding out the envelope.

"Personal and hand delivered." He said. "It came this afternoon."

She took the letter from him, slipping a coin into his hand as she did.

"Thank you Monsieur." She said with a kind smile. "Is that all?"  
He nodded, tipped his hat at her and ran off into the night with out another word.  
Meg sighed softly and shook her head as she quickly made her way back up the stairs, mindful not to slip. The envelope, despite its light weight, lay heavily in her hands. Despite the cover that she discarded immediately it was still travel worn and not very thick.  
What ever message was inside it, it was undoubtedly short and powerful.  
With a heavy heart she realised that there were only so many people it could've come from.

She did not open it when she was back in the light, but rather walked with it until she was in a deserted corridor. The boy who had come to collect her was long gone.

Alone, she calmly studied the envelope with a patience she didn't know she had. It was familiar, as was the bold print in front.  
Without reading the full address Meg flipped the envelope over and broke the seal. When she drew out the letter, the angry words leapt out at her.

"_This letter should not precede me by more than a day and hopefully my husband is already there or on his way. We are coming for her. How could you Meg? How could you take her there?" _

There was no salutation, no farewell, not even a name but Meg knew.  
She had known the moment the boy told her she had a message.

Meg Giry closed her eyes and leaned back against the familiar cold walls of her homes.

"Oh Julianne…" She whispered softly. "I am so sorry."

&&&

"I'm so sorry Monsieur." Ann whispered when she collected herself. "I did not mean to cry like that."

He did not let go of her and rather kept running his hand through her soft dark hair, keeping her head firmly tucked under his chin.

"There is no need to apologize Ann." He said. "You are only human."   
The fondness in his voice was unmistakable.

With her emotions spent, Ann could not even smile.

"You always say that." She said monotonously. "From the beginning, you always said that as if it means something more…" She grew quiet, then continued. "I never knew what you mean."

He snorted and half smiled. "Ignore an old Ghost's musings." He said. "It simply means that you need not excuse yourself my dear Ann."  
It felt as if Ann leaned in deeper to him.

"I am a ghost." She said softly, as if to herself. "I never existed."   
The words disturbed him deeply and he felt himself holding her as tightly as he could. She never protested or moved away from his touch.

"You are not a ghost Ann." He said fiercely. "You are the only one that is real between us. You are not a ghost."  
She smiled then, bitterly but didn't say anything.

He waited a few moments then released some of his grip on her.

"Will you not tell me what is wrong, Ann? I can try to set it right."

Ann shook her head weakly.

"I can't Monsieur." She said. "Not you, not now."  
He was hurt by her words.

"When then?"

She did not answer him, instead shifting slightly so that she could incline her head. She closed her eyes and seemed to listen.

"Aunt Meg is back." She said. "You have to go. I think she's going to come here."  
he did not let her go immediately as her back stiffened.

"When will you tell me what is wrong Ann?" He insisted.  
Ann started to pull away from him, paused then gave him a fierce hug.

"Soon." She said. "I promise Monsieur, soon. But not now, please – go before my aunt comes."

He had to let her go.

He stood up and turned to go to the secret passage way but hesitated when he heard Ann shift back on the bed. Without warning her he turned around and cupped his hands around her head.

"Never become a ghost Ann." He whispered fiercely. "Never. You are more than that. You are not a ghost; you are the only thing that is real to me. _Please, promise me. You must never become a ghost."_

She held her breath, stunned at the emotion behind his words.  
her hands enclosed around his and slowly drew them from her cheeks.

"I promise Monsieur." She replied compelled. "I promise."

She kissed his hands, hesitated then reached out and touched his mask. Feeling along its smooth surface she sat up straighter and kissed it.

"Go Monsieur." She whispered in his ear when she pulled back. "My aunt is at the door. Please go."  
He stepped back, quickly and without a word.  
Just as the door opened he stepped into his secret passageway and closed it behind him.  
His face burned behind the mask and without thinking, he tore it off to touch the place where he could still feel the pressure of her kiss on the mask.

Behind him he heard Meg Giry in the room but he paid her no mind and walked away slowly.

_Ann_. He thought. _Dear Ann, what have you done? _

&&&

She felt it the moment she entered the room.  
That presence… That touch…

That almost palatable sense in the air.

"He's here." She whispered to herself, an echo from her past. "The Phantom of the Opera."

She quickly rushed to the door, discarding her wet shawl on the floor, but intercepted by her mother.

"What was the note about child?" The older woman asked as she stopped her daughter from rushing forward with a hand on her elbow. "Is it serious?"  
Meg could not look at her mother, her gaze fixed on the door.

"Christine is coming." She said vaguely. "Mother let me go, Julianne…"

Her mother increased the pressure on her arm.

"Don't go barging in there child." Her mother hissed. "You'll scare her senseless if she's asleep. What else did the note say? Was it a telegram? A letter?"

Meg pulled towards the door.

"A letter." She snapped. "Let me go mother, I need to see her."

She tried to jerk her arm free but her mother had a surprisingly strong grip for the frail old lady she pretended to be.

"What else did the note say?"  
Meg closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She tried to relax her body.

"Nothing mother." She said as calmly as she could. "She only told me that they are coming for their daughter. I understand that _her_ husband went ahead. But, he is not here I suspect there has been a delay on the road. Now please, may I go see Julianne?"

The old woman let go of her hand and smiled at her.

"Of course my dear." She said. "You hardly need to ask permission. I just didn't want you to barge in there and scare the child. She has enough on her mind."

Meg resisted the urge to glare at her mother and took a steadying breath. With slow deliberate strides she went to the door and opened it.

Julianne sat back on the bed and turned her head towards her.

Meg did not speak to her immediately and looked around the room quickly. She went to pick up the single candle that burned on the dresser, there for her – not Julianne, and walked around the room, her hand on the wall.  
Julianne followed the sound of her footsteps around the room, her head tilted slightly for better hearing.

She didn't say a word.

Meg walked around the room once before she slowly went to the bed and sat down next to her charge, she did not feel satisfied that there had been nobody there. But, there was no evidence that someone had been and she did not want to falsely accuse Julianne.

"How are you feeling _Mon Cherie_?" She queried gently. "Have you eaten yet?"  
The food she had left on the dresser earlier was untouched.

Julianne did not move but straightened her back every so slightly.

"Where were you just now?" She queried instead of answering. "Did you leave?"  
With a touch of wonder Meg was reminded that Ann's hearing was a let better than most people's.

"I did." She said sadly. "There was a message from your mother. They will be here within the next day or two."

Julianne didn't flinch or show any emotion.

She merely sighed defeated and closed her eyes.

"Why did she hate it here Aunt Meg?" She queried. "What was so terrible about this place?"  
Meg suddenly felt like her mother must feel, weighing information and deciding what she could say and couldn't.

"She'll have to tell you that one day Julianne." She said softly. "It's not my story to tell. I all but promised not to."

Julianne shrugged wordlessly, unphased by her secrecy.

"Do we know when they'll be here?"

Meg shook her head and carefully placed her arm around Julianne's rigid body.

"I'm guessing tomorrow or the day after that at the latest."

Julianne didn't respond immediately but rather reached down and picked up her cane. She seemed to consider a walk but decided against it and put the cane back under her bed.

"Then I guess I have to start saying good bye tomorrow." She said softly. "Or, if I just disappear – they can say the Ghost got me."

She laughed bitterly and touched her cheek.

Meg shivered and impulsively hugged the young woman.

She didn't like hearing those words from her because she feared that the Ghost had already gotten to Ann LeRoux.

There was a very faint whiff of cologne in the room.

&&&

Three men escorted him outside into the alley way.

Raoul wrung his hands together, every now and again glancing at the man behind the two men flanking him.

The man stayed close to the doorway where the rain couldn't touch him.

"I'm so glad we still have an agreement." Raoul said - relief clear in his voice. "I can not tell you how sorry I am about all of this. If we knew that she was here, we would've reacted immediately."

The man behind him smiled.

"Of course." He said smoothly. "Vicomte, I won't punish you for somebody else's mistakes. This was clearly a result of some foolish woman's venture. Please, think nothing of it, things will carry on as planned. A few other arrangements will be made of course but we can discuss them at a later date."

Roaul nodded to the man, a gesture almost resembling a bow.

"Then I will take my leave." He said. "_Merci_ Monsieur, you have shown me great pardon."  
Two firm hands rested on his shoulders.

"I am not done with you yet Vicomte."

Roaul blinked surprised, then pressed against the hand with sudden trepidation.

"I will not punish you for things that other people did wrong." The man said unhindered by his anticipation. "But, I will most certainly punish you for what you did wrong my dear Victomte." He paused to smile. "You never told me that your daughter was gone. You never told me that you had lost control of the situation or that you didn't truly know where she was. You never told me and that was a mistake on your behalf my dear man."  
He glanced at his two companions, ignoring Raoul's rapidly paling face.

"Show the Vicomte how displeased I really am." He said smoothly. "But, avoid his face. He has to meet his wife and daughter tomorrow. We would hate to upset them."  
He turned and walked back into the room, ignoring the commencing sound of flesh impacting flesh behind him.

&&&


	22. 21 The Past Summoned

**Chapter 21: The Past Summoned. **

The second letter came two days later.

Meg Giry stood with it in her hands, her eyes drawing over the coldly familiar script. She sighed and closed her eyes, and – when she opened them again, looked at Julianne who was sitting on her bed. The young woman's eyes were turned towards her. At the silence in the room, she closed her eyes as if in pain and stood up. Without taking up her cane, she slowly moved across the empty room, listened a bit – and then carefully walked over to her aunt. Her outstretched hand first brushed Meg's elbow, then it travelled up first to her aunt's cheek to touch her tears and then to the letter. She took it out of her aunt's grip and brought it to her nose. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply.

"What does it say?" she whispered softly.

Meg blinked, feeling the warm tears still travelling down her cheeks.

"It's just an address," she said softly, wondering whether Christine always put a little bit of perfume on her paper. It was strange but she had never realized that she probably did it for her daughter's sake.

Julianne's hands shook as she crumbled the paper.

"I'll go get dressed."

Meg shook her head quickly and touched Julianne's hands. "No," she said quickly. "It also says that I should come alone. And, it's quite far from the Opera Julianne."

The young woman hesitated and frowned at a spot somewhere above her knee.

"Is she afraid of this place even now?" she whispered; her voice barely audible.

Meg's eyes were indivertibly drawn to the cane on the floor by Julianne's bed. She carefully took the note from her ward's hands and enclosed them with her own.

"Some fears never fade Julianne."

&&&

He had informants over the city.

He did not use to have any. Long ago, during _that_ time the only thing that had mattered to him had been the Opera House and his Angel of Music. But then, when his world had been turned upside down and he had found that he did not have the courage to die he had found himself turning to the world.

He travelled. He bought properties in Spain, invested in a mine in America. Through a mirage of faces he build up business contacts and made a name for the image he created. It became like a play, a game. And he was quite good at it. It was a knack he had, a gift perhaps. Like music, numbers and financial politics made sense to him and because he had no outlet to his artistic side, he channelled it all into business.

And contacts.  
One of whom was standing with him right now as they immersed themselves in the din of the station's ruckus. Both of them were inconspicuous. The informant stood at the front of a building, his head bent as he lit a cheap cigar. He was short, a working man with a tweed cap and an insipid little beard he cultured rather than grew on his face. None the less, his eyes were alert and clear as he looked around for anybody who might be listening to them. He knew his employer only as Monsieur Erik, a man who paid him merely to keep his eyes open. Not for the first time, it paid off and handsomely. His employer was standing around the corner and in the shadows. He had never seen the man directly; he had also learned that it paid not to be too curious. There were men before him who had paid dearly for their own inquisitiveness.

He breathed in deeply, allowing the cigar smoke to fill his mouth and lungs before he blew it out, well away from the figure in the shadows around the corner.

"If the mademoiselle whom you are referring to Monsieur was the young _le petite_ that I saw four days ago then I can tell you what had transpired." The man waved his cigar in the direction of the platform. "Just… It is at the regular price?"

There was a pause.

The man known as Monsieur Erik shifted ever so slightly and a wad of money dropped to the floor. His informant casually pulled it closer with his foot and kept standing on it while he talked. Nobody could call his French cultured, but he made an effort in his present company.

"The young mademoiselle, I would not have noticed her had it not been for the man I was following." He paused to suck on his cigar. "François Mackenzie has been very active of late. I've been keeping an eye on him due to his interest in the Opera. It is always an indication of who's trying to make a statement in public."  
There was an impatient shift from the shadows. The informant carried on quickly.

"I followed François Mackenzie from the Opera to the station. He had been hanging around there quite a lot and if he wasn't there personally there was always one of his main… associated there. He had followed a buggy, though admittedly I had not paid enough attention to know who had climbed into it." He shifted uncomfortably and carried on quickly. "At the station, thing were a bit chaotic at that stage. I lost site of him and only caught up with him again when he had engaged in a conversation with a young mademoiselle looking a lot like the one you described."

The shadows felt deeper when Monsieur Erik spoke.

"What happened?"

The informant looked out towards the platform and pushed up his hat as he rubbed his brow. "They spoke briefly," he said. "Before I could get close though, they had already gone their separate ways. I wanted to follow François, but the young mademoiselle was in a very bad way. What ever had passed between them, it had upset her deeply."

There was the sharpest of breath from his employer.

"_What happened to her?"_

The informant thought to spit, but sensing his employer's tone, he restrained himself. "There was a big fuss," he said. "I couldn't determine whether she had fainted or whether she had just sat down. I didn't get close; there were quite enough people around. After a moment or two, her companion returned, an old woman with a cane, and led her away. She was blind Monsieur."

There was silence for a very long time.

The informant, watching the smoke from his cigar trail around the corner, turned to leave when another wad of money rolled from the shadows.

"Thank you," his employer said, and was gone.

&&&

The café was on the other side of Paris.

Meg Giry stood in front of it, her heart tight in her chest, as she surveyed the customers even though she knew her friend would not be in sight. Christine was not taking any chances. For a second Meg considered leaving, the letter Christine had written to her heavy in her pocket, but then she sighed and asked the garçon to escort her inside. She guiltily remembered that the last time she and Christine had seen each other she and her daughter had been secretly planning her escape to the Opera, weeks before Julianne actually came.

She had thought of it as an escape back then.

She had wanted so much for Julianne to feel the Opera, to feel what it was like to sing for an appreciative audience. To feel the presence of music and to know what it's like to do something for yourself and no one else.

She had wanted all of that for Julianne, and maybe something for herself as well.

Meg had felt cheated her whole life.

She had felt cheated out of having a father, firstly because her own died long before she could remember and secondly because her mother refused to get married again. She had felt cheated out of having a mother, because she had always had to share Madam Antoinette Giry with every ballet and chorus girl in the Opera. And, she had felt cheated out of the Opera itself. Not the opera of stage and music and talent, no – the Opera of the Ghost. She had always known that he was there. Always. Yet, she had never seen him as Christine or her mother had. She had seen him twice; the first time when he had presented Don Juan Triumphant to the managers and the second time when he had played the role that ultimately lead to his folly. Never before that and never after.

She had felt cheated.

And lastly, perhaps the hardest, she felt cheated out of the friendship of a woman she loved dearly. The same woman that was staring at her from the corner of the café. Her piercing gaze danced over the dancer then to the door behind her.  
Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly when Meg sighed and shook her head. Stealing herself the petite woman moved forward as Madame la Vicomtesse Christine de Changy stood up.

"_Where is my daughter?" _

Her voice was barely audible above the commotion in the small café but Meg heard her immediately because she had expected the question.

She met the woman's eyes calmly, putting her one hand on the table.

"Hello Christine."

Her calm tones bore a strong contrast to the sharp sound that followed.

Christine's hand hovered in the air for a moment, her eyes blazing with fury.

"Where is my daughter?" she snapped. "I told you to bring her!"

The whole café was silent.

Meg made sure to keep her back straight but her movements calm as she carefully slipped into the vacant seat. Her cheek stung and she was almost sure that there was a tear on her face but she refused to pay it any mind. She gave her childhood friend a pointed look. Christine stared at her, the fury in her eyes replaced momentarily with pure horror at what she had done. She dropped her hands to her sides but refused to apologize for her action as the anger slowly seeped back into her eyes. She didn't say anything but kept her gaze on the ballet mistress. After a moment or two's consideration Meg sighed softly and motioned to the seat Christine had vacated.

"She's with my mother," she said. "I didn't think that it would be a good idea to bring her."

Aware of the people's attention on them Christine sat down slowly. "I told you explicitly to bring her," she said. "I want this to end Meg! This must end today!"

Meg allowed herself to touch her cheek for the first time, probing the inside of her mouth with her tongue.

"It will never end," she whispered then raised her voice slightly. "You're too emotional Christine," she said softly. "We… I want to talk to you first. Alone. You know how sensitive Julianne is to your moods and also, there are some _things_ she does not yet know. We must talk Christine. You and I…" She thought of something suddenly and looked around surprised. "I thought Raoul would be here as well."

Christine shifted and touched a glass of water that was on the table. "He had some last minute business to attend to. He will be here in a moment or two."

Meg couldn't let a sleeping dog lie.

"He can't be too distraught then," she said haughtily but was stopped from saying anything else by a very disapproving look from Christine.

"He is furious," she said coldly. "Absolutely furious Megan. What were you thinking? Why did you do this to us? Why did you bring her here?"

Meg grimaced and called for the garçon who brought them some breadsticks and took her order for a glass of wine.

"Ann… Julianne had a lot of reasons for wanting to come," Meg said quietly. "She knew that you had sung at the Opera, but you never spoke about it. Or your reasons for leaving. It became… A being in her head. Almost like a person that she had to meet for herself because knowing about it had been denied to her."

Christine's eyes flashed with anger and Meg suspected that her hand was itching to strike her again. "This is not about Julianne, Meg!" the woman said angrily. "It's about you and why you brought her! And… And this place!"

Meg had decided on the ride here that she was not going to be apologetic or beg for forgiveness. She straightened her back and glared at her friend.

"You're wrong Christine," she snapped. "This is about Julianne and only Julianne. She is a wonderful young woman Christine. She's bright, she's as independent as she can be and she has a… a… a zeal for life that I think very few understands. Yet, all that waited for her, all that she saw in front of her, was a marriage to a man who would do nothing but squash her spirit. _Don't look at me like that._ Julianne deserved to see what she could do before she is faced with everything that she can't!"

Christine's anger was almost palatable.

"You speak as if we are signing her off to an unhappy life!" she snapped. "Françoise loves my daughter Meg. And he is a good man! He will be nothing but good to her. She deserves as much of a normal life as he can give her!"

Meg clenched her jaw hard, balled her first underneath the table.

"And he does not deserve her!" she snapped. "Christine, François Mackenzie is a shark who has made his money on the misfortune of others. I can not see him love anybody but himself! He is not the right person for Julianne! She will be unhappy! She's scared of him for God's sake. She will not be happy!"

Christine's anger changed to cold fury as she sat back and regarded her old friend. Then, she leaned forward, her eyes sharp.

"You have no right to make that call Meg," she said softly. _"You are not her mother." _

&&&

Françoise Jacques Mackenzie.

He should've been surprised that the name popped up but somehow he wasn't. The way the man had acted at the gala evening came to him and suddenly the looks he had given Ann and how he had deliberately avoided her had a whole new meaning.

The man known as Monsieur Erik to Ann and his business associates alike quietly moved through the back streets of Paris, blending into the background unnoticed. Sometimes, he went into a derelict building, climbed to the roof and moved from there. It was faster, but precarious sometimes and he did it only when he knew he could not be seen from the streets. Sometimes, he went into an underground storm pipe and used the coldly familiar tunnels to make his way to his destination.

He was going to the problem itself and what had really surprised him was the commitment he felt in resolving it. He did not know Ann's family history. He had always suspected that she came from a cultured background. She was educated within the limits of her blindness, she had spoken of a housekeeper and nanny and she had the impeccable manners that was only associated with high society. Yet her family name was unfamiliar to him so it meant that her family had either not established themselves yet or they were deliberate staying out of the social limelight. It was the kind of people that Mackenzie preyed on. One of the conclusions that he had drawn was that Ann's family might be in terrible debt. It could also be one of the reasons why she was at the opera house. It's a glamorous enough occupation not to be questioned by people's peers and the money Ann received might be send to her family to help with their debt. It was not an uncommon occurrence.

He didn't completely understand what Meg Giry had to do with it and why she had taken Ann under her wing, but he didn't really care. All he knew was that he was going to get to the heart of the problem and make sure that Françoise Jacques Mackenzie will never have another reason to make Ann cry again.

&&&

It hurt. Those words hurt deeply.  
Meg had to sit back and take a few deep breaths to control her emotions. She wanted to tell Christine that she loved Julianne as much as she would've loved her if she had been her daughter, how she had wished feverishly from the first time she saw the young, special child that she could've held her the way Christine did, have that love for herself. But, she had long since come to terms with the fact that Julianne would never be completely hers. Would never love her the way that she did her mother. She, Megan Giry, will never have children of her own. It was a fate she had chosen for herself.

But it hurt, oh, it hurt.

She swallowed and licked her lips before she closed her eyes and took a steadying breath.

"Your husband is only marrying off your daughter for that man's money."

Christine blinked then actually laughed.

"You're grabbing at straws Meg," she said. "Marrying Julianne off for payment? We don't need the money. Françoise and Raoul are business partners."

Meg crossed her arms.

"In what?" she queried snappishly. "Monsieur Mackenzie is a creditor. Where would Raoul possible need him? What kind of work would they do together?"

Christine shifted uncomfortably and touched her hair. "It's not my place to ask Meg," she said then frowned at her friend. "Don't _you_ look at me like that. It's different when your married Meg. I have no say in my husband's work or finances. It's not my place."

Meg had to struggle very hard to keep herself from rolling her eyes and contented herself by taking a sip from the wine the waiter had brought her. She felt an old irritation with the way of the world well up inside her.

"That's one of the reason's I will never marry," she muttered into her glass. "You're reduced to a… a… kept woman."

For the first time that day Christine shook her head and smiled at her ever so slightly. "You're just too scared that you will like it," she said fondly then sighed. "Raoul believes that you brought Julianne here to get even with him for… taking me away from the Opera all those years ago. Even though it was my choice. Is that true Meg?"

The smaller woman hesitated and made sure that her tone was very neutral when she replied. "I know it was your choice to leave Christine. I never held it against you," the reply was neutral enough. "But, no. Julianne came up with this all on her own. I had suggested it once, years ago, in jest. She took me up quite literally." She sighed. "And, I guess… I was perhaps very keen to have her close to me. But it didn't directly influence my decision to help her. Julianne would've done something like this one way or the other. I thought that if I helped her, held a controlling hand over her actions, then I can keep her safe from ignorant harm."

Maybe it was because the tone of their conversation had changed but she could see that Christine made a visible effort to keep her tone neutral instead of angry.

"So you brought her here?" she queried. "To this place? To keep her safe?"

Meg shifted, trying hard to ignore the guilt welling up inside of her. "Yes," she said softly. "But I wasn't the only one who had a hand in this Christine. You brought her here too. You had as much a hand in this as I had."

Her old friend's eyes grew cold as she sat back and crossed her arms.

"And why would you say that?" Her words echoed the ice in her eyes.

Meg set her back straight, refusing to back down.

"You taught her to sing Christine," she said. "You taught her to love music, to believe that a place like the Opera is waiting for her. You taught her how to be here. I just brought her."

She thought that Christine would flare up at the accusation but instead her friend almost flinched. She closed her eyes and sat very still for a moment. When she opened her eyes again they gazed to a time far away, beyond Meg. The younger woman began to wonder whether or not she had gone to far when Christine sighed.

"It was impossible for me not to teach her," she said softly. "She was _his_ child…"

&&&

When he reached his destination he took a moment or two to consider his options.

Staring up at the private office building of Mackenzie, he almost considered going in personally and finding out what he needed about Ann LeRoux. He knew that his name carried enough weight to grant him an audience with Mackenzie himself. Yet, he knew immediately that he will not be able to do that. Despite his name's authority he knew that he himself could not pull it off in the company of a man like Mackenzie. The man would not be fooled by his usual parlour tricks to remain partly obscured for the sake of privacy. He was too sharp. He could wait for one of his more refined operatives, people he had personally trained to act as him. It will take time to brief them though and time for them to get here.

He didn't feel like waiting.

The other option was risky but still he found himself smiling behind the mask.

Looking around to make sure that no one noticed him and making sure that his dark cloak was thoroughly wrapped around him, he crossed the street into a dark alley way. There, after once again making sure that no one would see him, he used a drainpipe to climb to the roof…

&&&

Meg stared at Christine in shock until the other woman noticed her expression. She blinked and touched her dark but greying hair, coming back to herself.

"Oh goodness," she said softly. "That came out completely wrong. I didn't mean… We never slept together. It… She…" Christine dropped her gaze and closed her eyes. _"I never even knew his name." _

Meg sat very still, least she said something that might discourage Christine from explaining her reasoning. She watched as the woman gather herself and look up again, her eyes still distant. She pushed the glass of water in front of her around and took a deep breath.

"I had to teach her Meg," she said softly. "She… She had a gift. And, when she was young music helped. It helped us to communicate with her, to break through the wall that her blindness put around her. I had to."

Meg hesitated then leaned forward, her gaze intent.

"But you carried on teaching her," she pointed out. "Even when she settled. Christine, you taught her every day. You trained her as if you _expected_ her to have a future in singing. Why? What did you mean by… What you said?"

Christine rubbed her arm and looked at the door as if she expected her husband or the Phantom to walk in at any moment. When she returned her gaze to her friend there was a touch of shame in her dark orbs.

"Julianne is Raoul's daughter," she said. "I have never made love to any other man, never loved anyone as much as I love him. Please, keep that in mind. But… When we found out that Julianne was blind I felt as if I was being punished for the sins that we committed now twenty years ago. I felt as if it was my burden to bear because of my hand in… destroying that… that _man_."

Old emotions welled up inside Meg, an old anger, an old fear and an old horror.

"He was not a man Christine," she hissed. "He was a monster and a murderer! Have you forgotten that?"

Her friend looked older beyond her years when their eyes met.

"Perhaps," she said softly. "But, he also let me go Meg. If he was as evil and as wicked and as big a monster as everybody thought he was _he would not have let me go!_"

Meg swallowed and had to look away, her throat tight. She could not deal with those thoughts and emotions. Not now. Her mind latched onto something to save herself from the past.

"Julianne is not a punishment Christine." Her voice was angry, harsh. "How can you think that?"  
Christine's eyes remained the same as she answered.

"I know that," she said, her voice still soft. "I know that now Meg. Please, don't judge me. I was young and scared back then. I know now that she is a gift. I knew it the moment I realised how much she loved music, how _talented_ she was. She became my salvation, the only reason the past couldn't drive me mad. I felt that if I taught her, if I let the music that _he_ taught me live on in her then I was giving something back to _him_. I never thanked him. And I left him. With reason yes. But I guess that you can say that he had his reasons as well."

Meg hugged herself tightly, feeling cold.

"You've dwelled on this for too long," she said. "You never stopped thinking…"  
Her friend's eyes were cold.

"Have you? Why did you return to the Opera Meg?"

Meg blushed, ashamed. She touched her cheek, still stinging from Christine's earlier slap. "Because I felt I had to," she said softly. "I… Christine it does not help to speak of this."

Christine looked at her but said nothing. Meg was unable to figure out whether or not she agreed with her. After a long pause she sighed and glanced at the door again.

"Was she happy Meg?" she queried. "Julianne, in… that place. Was she happy?"

There was a lump in Meg's throat when she replied, realizing once again the loss that her ward would feel when leaving the Opera.

"Yes," she said with certainty. "She has bloomed. And she is safe and well Christine. I have never seen her act with the confidence that she has showed in these past few months. It was hard for her at first, and yes not all accept her. But, you have raised her to be in the Opera and it showed."

Christine's eyes remained fixed on hers.

"Has anything happened?"

Meg shivered when she shook her head. "No Christine," she felt as if she was lying. "No. Nobody knows whose daughter she is. Not even the managers. In the Opera she has become Ann LeRoux."

The other woman was quiet until she whispered softly.

"A masquerade?"

Meg almost laughed but with tears threatening below the surface.

"Yes."

&&&

He had found his way into the building, had navigated through the various levels and had finally discovered Mackenzie's private office. As he had suspected his office was right next to his records room, where he had found the man's personal assistant. An intelligent looking man that unfortunately had preciously slow reflexes. For the time being, he propped him up in the coat closet. When he got what he came for he would just lay the man out in the middle of the room. With the method that he used no one would suspect foul play and the clerk himself will wake up with little less than a headache.

He smiled to himself as he thumbed through all the personal records of people who owed Monsieur Mackenzie money. His time in Asia had taught him something.

He found quite a few interesting records, but sadly none on any LeRoux family. Because he also didn't know Ann's father's name it made it even harder. As he thumbed through the records L to R he began to suspect that Ann might've taken on a different surname when she came to the Opera. It was not uncommon, and if her father owed Mackenzie money then it was natural for her to wish to remain anonymous in the large city.

But, it reminded him that he actually knew precious little about her. He knew that he _knew_ her. He understood her, knew what grieved her and what made her happy. He knew what books she loved, knew that she bit her tongue when she concentrated hard and rubbed her hand over her face when she was scared or uncertain. He had heard her laugh and felt her tears.

But.

He didn't know anything about her.

It made his heart ache strangely.

When it became clear that he would not find any records on Ann's family he realized that the only way to get to the bottom of Ann's unhappiness was to either ask her directly or speak to Mackenzie himself. He closed the files drawer, went to check on the clerk and then went to the next room. It was a small foyer where the clerk's desk was. He glanced at the door at the entrance and could see a single shadow under it. He always suspected that Mackenzie was someone who hated to get his own hands dirty and the amount of muscle that he kept around just proved it to him.

Carefully he walked over to the closed door leading Mackenzie's office and listened. After a moment or two he could distinguish two voices from inside. The creditor had a client with him. The one voice made him shiver, he didn't know why but it sent slivers of suppressed emotions coursing through his veins. He closed his eyes and tried to listen harder, trying hard to distinguish words through the muffled door.

"… So I suggest you take your leave Monsieur," the other voice said, the tones cool and confident. "Meet up with your wife and daughter and bring them directly to my estates outside of Paris. You were there once no?"

"Yes," the companion said quietly. "Her things?"

"Will be sent for. You and your wife can return confidently to your own home with the knowledge that your daughter is well taken care of." There was a sound of a chair being pushed out. Belated he realized that they were coming out. Not trusting himself, his insides turning in confusion he quickly returned to the records room and shut the door just as the other one opened.

"Jean?" the confident voice called, at home enough for it to be identified as Mackenzie's. "Jean, where are you my good man?"

Thinking quickly he moved away from the door and went to the coat closet, carefully stepping over the unconscious clerk as he stepped in and closed the door behind him. He moved to the back and pulled his cloak around him. He heard the record room door's open.

"It's alright," the voice that affected him said. "I'll get my own cloak thank you."

He stood back as far as he could and stilled his breathing. It was inevitable that they will find the clerk, but if he was careful and quiet he knew that they wouldn't find him. They would hopefully never consider looking in the same closet for the assailant that had hidden the clerk there.

He heard the steps come closer and braced himself as the door opened.

He did not expect to see the face in front of him.

All the emotions the man's voice has triggered flared up inside him and it took all his self control not to reach over and strangle the horrified face of Raoul de Changy as he stared down at the unconscious clerk.

"Françoise!" He called. "Come here quickly!"

He was shaking; he was shaking so hard he was sure that they would hear him. W_hat are you doing here?_ He wanted to yell. _Didn't I tell you to go! Didn't I tell you never to return!_ Bile built up in his throat and rage blinded him as Raoul dragged the unfortunately clerk out of the closet. He knew that the man was talking to Mackenzie but he couldn't hear anything, his shock and anger deafening him to their words. Belated a horrified part of him realized that he was stepping forward his hands already clenched, his muscles ready to beat Raoul where he stood. Just in time though, someone closed the closet door. He stood very still, breathing quietly but heavily.

_What are you doing here? Where is Christine?_

Christine…

Hot tears streamed down his face as he stepped back into the safety of the hanging cloaks and coats. _Are you here Christine?_

Their voices came back to him.

"Someone must've been in here," he had not recognized Raoul's voice immediately because the man had aged, his voice had aged. Twenty years had stared blindly at him when the man had opened the closet. "I… what should we do?"

There was a long pause.  
_Christine… _

"You should get your coat and go to your family," Mackenzie said, his voice unconcerned. "I'll handle this; it has nothing to do with you. Bring your wife and daughter to my estates as soon as you can. I will join you there when I have this sorted out."

Raoul wanted to protest but eventually backed down to the younger man. The old Phantom of the Opera turned his back on the door so that he could not see the man again, knowing that he would not be able to control himself again. The closet door opened and closed, leaving him in the darkness. He closed his eyes and sank to the ground, Ann's plight forgotten.  
Wife and daughter.  
His Christine had a daughter…

&&&

They had a light meal even though neither of them was very hungry. They didn't speak and rarely looked at each other. What needed to be said had been said and their strength for small talk had been spent. There was nothing else to do but wait for Raoul.

He came half an hour later, his pale face unusually flushed and his steps quick. One glance around the café told him that his daughter was not there. Visibly angry he stormed over to the table. Meg, seeing trouble stood up defiantly in an attempt to get as much height on him as possible but Christine, in a well practiced move intercepted Raoul before he could talk to Meg. She too had stood up and had gone to him quickly to hug him and give him a light kiss on his cheek.

"Why did you take so long darling?" she queried warmly. "Sit down; I'll get the garçon to bring you something to drink."

Looking at Meg, Raoul unconsciously slipped his arm around his wife and held her close. "That will not be necessary," he said. "Where's Julianne?"

Meg opened her mouth to speak but Christine was one ahead of her.

"I told Meg to leave her at the Opera," she choked out the last word regardless of her smooth tones. "We needed to talk about a few things and…"

Raoul shook his head and glared at the smaller woman.

"There is precious little to talk about," he said. "This woman all but kidnapped our daughter and we have come to take her back."  
This time Meg spoke before Christine could, her voice tight and bristling with barely controlled hostility. "Julianne came out of her own free will," she said coldly. "I merely made sure that she doesn't do anything foolish."  
Raoul barked a bitter laugh.

"And bringing her here is not foolish?" he queried. "You are the most selfish woman I know Meg Giry."

Meg sucked in a sharp breath, ready to flare up when Christine quickly snapped.

"Not here you two!" She glared at them both and sniffed. "For Heaven's sake not in public." She turned to her husband. "Where do we go from here?"  
Raoul was still glaring at Meg but turned his gaze away with effort and looked at his wife.

"To the Opera," he said, "to get our daughter. Françoise said that we must come to his estates, it will be quieter there."

Again, Meg wanted to protest again but Christine held up her hand and shook her head. "No Meg, you have no say in this," there was a residual touch of her initial anger in her tone. "She is our daughter. It is out of your hands now. If her fiancé wants to see her, then we have no right to say no. We've denied him long enough…"

&&&

To Be Continued…


	23. 22 Retour et Conge

Chapter 22: Chapter 22: Retour et congé

Ann LeRoux.

Who was she? Where did she belong? What was she going to do?

Julianne de Changy stood next to the angel on the Opera's roof, allowing her heightened senses to spread out over the city she has never seen but have grown to love so much. She took a deep breath and rubbed her hair out of her face, touching the angel on her cane.

_But was it really the city?_ Her mind whispered darkly. _Or maybe just the man._

She closed her eyes, pushing the thought away as hard and forcefully as she pushed herself against the angel. The end was coming, she knew it. Her life here, the person who she was, her time with Monsieur Erik. It was all fading, like the last chorus of a song.  
She had come here to say good bye, hoping that Monsieur Erik will show up as he seem to do whenever she came up here unannounced. She wasn't sure whether it was because he watched her constantly or whether it was just that they had become so in tune with each other's movements that like in a dance they were always where the other person needed them to be.  
Julianne knew that in a way, she certainly needed Monsieur Erik. Or, Ann LeRoux did. She flinched inwardly, the guilt of her lie washing over her. It would've been easier saying good bye to him if she could tell him why she was leaving. She had rehearsed telling him the truth but as she stood there the words felt like dust in her mouth. She also felt a silent rebellion over destroying Ann LeRoux. She wanted Ann to stay alive in him, to keep her memory as it is.  
She rested her cheek against the stone angel and took another deep breath.  
_Who was Ann Leroux?  
_She was a determined young woman with a sense of humour and a confidence in herself that other people either admired or, she suspected in the case of Sophia Carre, hated. She didn't need to ask for help because she always had angel watching over her. She didn't feel self conscious about her lack of sight because she had proven that she was more than capable of holding her own, be it on the stage or in her personal life. Ann was the person Julianne believed her mother had raised her to be and the person that would suffer the most now that she was going to leave. Because, Ann was so much more than Julianne. Julianne de Changy was quiet and proper, a young woman who had lost the confidence in herself because she was made to believe that the only way she could ever contribute to society was if she married a man she neither loved nor understood. A man who was particularly harsh on her sightlessness and her free spirit.

Julianne sighed again, spreading her senses around the roof, growing quiet as to listen for any sign that Monsieur Erik was close. She breathed in deeply, trying to smell his cologne. For a moment she thought she caught a hint of it, but the sense disappeared as quickly as she picked it out of the air.

Feeling at a loss, Julianne pulled herself away from the angel and turned to go back to her room. She suspected that her aunt would be back soon and she would hate to cause more trouble by not being around when she got there.

"Where are you Monsieur?" she whispered to the wind. "I need you. Please, where are you?"

&

"_Take her, forget me… Forget all of this."_

"Where are you Monaieur? I need you. Please, where are you?"

"_Leave me alone. Leave me."_

"Monsieur. Please."

He watched her leave, watched her fade away into the passageway that lead to the opera house but he was to far away within himself to notice.  
Ann LeRoux, Christine Daae.

The present faded and the past erupted around him like the ecstasy of _her_ lips on his. He was there again, in the tunnels of the opera house, the secret passageways that he been his home until _her_ touch destroyed all it meant to him. He could feel the cold water around him, such a sharp contrast to the anger and hate that burned inside him. Not, he knew darkly, for them but for himself. His anger, his vengeance and the blood on his hands fuelled the disdain he had for himself, for his face even, perhaps, for his talent. If he had not known music, he would never have been driven to pursue her. If he had not known music, known what the music of the night did to his soul, he would perhaps just have had the courage to give up and die.

But Christine, his Christine, had given him so much to live for, so much to believe in. He could never believe in himself but believing in her and her talent, dreaming of what she could achieve and how she could promote his music…  
He loved her.  
He loved her so much.  
_Was it love?_

It was like poison that slowly ate away his soul the less he possessed her. The more she became enthralled by that boy of a de Changy, the more the poison of her talent, the poison of the promise of her affection and the poison of her potential to accept his monstrous fate ate at him.  
Lust. Murder. Blood.

"_Have you gorged yourself at last in your lust for blood? Am I now to be prey to your lust for flesh?" _

Yet he did not touch her, never, not like that. He worshipped her, her body, her talent, but he never touched her, never befouled her with his unworthy touch. But she on the other hand, she had kissed him. She had touched him. That shock, the explosion of her lips on his… That love.

The Phantom of the Opera closed his eyes and pressed his hands against his face, into the mask that covered his eternal curse.

He had wanted them to leave, not for their own sake but for his. He knew that Christine had given herself to him in that one moment, like a promise sealed with a curse.

_I'll stay,_ her lips had said. _I'll stay, but let Raoul go._  
But then, her eyes had looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. As if his touch had awakened something inside her. He could not bare that. He could not face her again, knowing that he could not let her stay, but could not bear to see her go at Raoul de Changy's hand.  
What had he done all those years ago? What was he to do now?  
The de Changy's were back in Paris and they had had a child. A fruit, a reaping of their love. Their dedication to each other.  
What did he have?  
Nothing.  
He had nothing but a mask.

&

She didn't ride with them, but took her own cab and paid the man a week's intake to make sure that he reached the opera house before the de Changy's did.  
Meg Giry was hurting and she was angry. It was a strange and almost paralyzing combination. She wanted to warn Julianne that her parents were coming and have a few precious moments alone with her ward. She had brought Julianne here because she had wanted what was best for the child, not herself and she wanted to tell her that before she saw her parents. She knew that she was not her mother, but it didn't make her love her any less. She wanted to tell her that as well.  
And, she guessed that deep down she wanted to make double sure that Julianne was still in the opera house. She didn't think that Christine would ever forgive her if she wasn't.

Not caring who saw her, Meg Giry ran to her living compartments the moment the cab driver dropped her off at the opera house's steps. She was out of breath by the time that she got there and took a few moments outside her room to compose herself. Then, when her breathing returned to normal and she didn't feel quite as emotional she knocked on the door and entered, looking around to see where her mother was. She didn't see Julianne immediately, but found the older woman sitting by the piano, lost in thought. Despite her preoccupied thoughts she found herself momentarily wondering where her mother fit into the picture, where she had become associated with the Opera Ghost. She never spoke about it, even now. Meg couldn't help but feel sometimes that she, Antoinette Giry, was responsible for everything.

She sighed and glanced into Julianne's room but the young woman wasn't there.  
Frowning, Meg cleared her throat loudly, winning her mother's attention with a startled gasp from the older woman. The two Giry's blinked at each other before Madam Giry's face became unreadable. Meg wanted to ask her what she had been thinking about, but the strange light in her mother's eyes made her stop. Instead she cleared her throat again and motioned into Julianne's room.

"Where's Ann?" she queried. "I asked you to watch her."

Madam Giry took a slow - deep breath, an action that caused her to start coughing. Meg's heart skipped a beat, remembering how sick her mother had been just before she left for Spain. Her cough sounded better, but Meg was still worried that it might return one day. She wanted to go over and steady her mother but she kept her ground.  
When Madam Giry recovered she cleared her throat and swallowed dryly.  
"You're back earlier than expected," she said in a distracted voice. "I thought that you would be at least another hour."  
Meg crossed her arms in front of her chest and shook her head. "I didn't say anything," she had said. "There was no predicting what Christine would've wanted to do. Where's Ann?"

Madam Giry made a sound in the back of her throat and looked at the piano. "I suspect that we'll stop calling her that from today onwards. Am I right?"  
Meg nodded, but kept her arms crossed. "Her parents are coming here." Saying it hurt. "Please mother, where is Julianne? I want to talk to her before they come. I told you to watch her."

Madam Giry didn't look at her daughter, but ran her hand over the piano. "She's always watched Megan," she said softly. "Always. She wanted to go for a walk on her own. I could hardly keep her prisoner in her own opera house."

It was a strange way to phrase it, Meg found that she didn't like the way her mother said it. "This is not her opera house," she said snappishly. "It's not even _his_ anymore mother. _He's_ been gone for ages and he's the only one who might've lay claim to such a possession."

Her mother chuckled dryly, sending her a sideways glance. "You're very defensive," she said. "Yes, of course you're right Meg. It's not her opera house, but it's her legacy isn't it? The opera house. The daughter of Christine Daae and Raoul de Changy, brought here to sing again. And you, the instigator." She smiled as if at a private joke but didn't say anything further.  
Goosebumps lifted the hairs on the back of her neck as Meg gaped at her mother. _All it needs is Ghost…_ her mind whispered to her unwilling conscience. _Or maybe it already has one…_ Meg shuddered and traded her unease for anger.  
"I told you to watch Julianne. You could've gone to walk with her, she never travels far." She sniffed indignantly. "Now, seeing as how you are intent on crazy ramblings, I'll go and look for her myself. You can stay here, I have no doubt that Raoul and Christine will come here directly."

Her mother grunted softly. "If they come into the opera house," she said. "They might just demand that you bring her out Meg."

Meg shook her head at the idea, her eyes dark with some of her previous hurt and anger. "If they want her," she said with iron resolve, "they will have to come in here to get her. Julianne, my Ann, is giving up a lot – here on this day. Coming in here, facing their fears, is a small price to pay in comparison."

She didn't see the smile on her mother's face when she left the room.

&

_Who was Ann LeRoux? _

Ann LeRoux was a mask she realized suddenly as she carefully made her way back to her room. Like the mask Monsieur Erik had presented to her during their first few encounters, Ann LeRoux was like an illusion she could hold in front of Julianne de Changy. Perhaps that was why she had never objected to not knowing what Monsieur Erik really looked like, to not being able to feel the contours of his face, the establish his visage in the sensory pathways of her mind.  
But suddenly, knowing that Ann LeRoux was a mask she had to ask, who was Julianne de Changy? Who was Ann hiding?

The answer was simple and so crippling that it made her stop and lean against the wall.  
Julianne de Changy was a ghost. Or had become one.  
Who she had been when she was younger and who she had wanted to become had faded the moment she realized that she was doomed to marry François Mackenzie. She closed her eyes and bit back a cry of dismay. She could remember the hands on her face, a gesture more intimate than _he_ had ever shown her.

"_Never become a ghost Ann. Never. You are more than that. You are not a ghost; you are the only thing that is real to me._ _Please, promise me. You must never become a ghost."_

"Monsieur," she whispered softly, tears burning behind her eyes, "I'm so sorry."

A hand slipped over hers, another touching her elbow.

She jerked and looked up.

"Monsieur?"

&

She had never seen the girl look so alone, so vulnerable or so broken. Yet, when she spoke the word scared her beyond understanding.

Meg gripped Julianne's wrist before she unthinkingly drew her into a fierce hug. Julianne stiffened, disorientated. When she fought against the unknown touch Meg realized her error and quickly made a soothing sound.  
"It's alright," she whispered softly. "It's just me Ann. I'm sorry."  
Her body didn't relax immediately as she took a few calming breaths but then with a fierce intensity returned the woman's hug, burying her head in the woman's neck.  
"Are they coming?" she whispered intuitively. "Is this it?"

Meg closed her eyes against threatening tears and put her hand on Julianne's head. "Yes," she whispered, "they should be here by now or within a breath of the opera. I'm sorry about everything Julianne. I'm sorry this hurt you. I meant well, I wanted to help you. This was not for me. I'm sorry." The words flowed from her mouth unbidden, yet they fell to a dismayed silence when she felt her ward stiffen again and almost pull away.  
For what felt like an endless eon Julianne didn't say anything then her fierce grip on the older woman. "Don't apologize," she whispered fiercely, "Aunt Meg, you saved my life. I… I don't think I can go Aunt Meg."

&

"Are you coming?"  
His fierce blue eyes burned into hers as he held the door open for her.  
Christine calmly met her husband's gaze before she looked up to the looming building in front of her. It had changed somehow. It was smaller than the fortress in her memory, timid, old. Time had had the opposite effect than her fear on the building itself. She remembered it as a magnificent place, beautiful but frightening. A place that had been her home for longer than her father had been alive, yet the place that had drawn her to her folly. She didn't know what she had thought. Perhaps that the place was magical somehow and that twenty years would not touch it.  
She had been wrong because now it appeared to be just a building. Yet, her senses traveled further than her gaze did as she turned her eyes upwards and her heart skipped a beat as she _felt_ it. Its spirit still loomed here as surely as it did in her memory. It was dampened, touched by time. _But still there._

"Doesn't it scare you?"

Those fierce blue orbs that use carry such kindness blinked. She didn't know what had changed Raoul in these past few years. The change had been subtle, gradual. He became less of a family man and more of a businessman, obsessed with work he didn't discuss with her. The company he kept changed, his dreams for the family changed and his plans for Julianne…

The fierceness returned to Raoul's eyes and he straightened his back defiantly. "There are scarier things than the past here," he said sharply but, at the look on her face, immediately regretted his tone. "I'm sorry Christine. I know this is hard."

She got up and allowed him to help her out of the cab. "Do you think that the past ever leaves us?" Due to the seemingly practical attitude of his previous answer she had not expected the darkness in his voice when he shook his head.  
"It will haunt us till we die." He spoke with cold certainty. "But, we should not be afraid of it Christine, please – lets go get our daughter."

She held his gaze for a long time, wondering what could possibly be more frightening than the past. What demons lurked behind his eyes? Her stomach twisted when she looked past him, back at the opera. _What masks were they wearing in front of each other?_

Swallowing dryly she slipped her arm into his and pulled herself as close to her husband as she could. "Let's do it quickly," she whispered. "I do not want to stay here any longer than necessary."

&

"I do not love him," Julianne said in a strained voice as they walked back to their apartments. "I never have. I don't even like him Aunt Meg. I know… I know that it's a fool's wish to marry for love. There are bigger things out there, I know this, but… To marry Monsieur Mackenzie…" She frowned and tapped her cane. "I've come into my own here in the Opera. I have shown the world that I can take care of myself. That will count as nothing to him. Nothing. I know this, and so do you."

Meg was quiet for a while before she sighed and nodded. "To marry for love is no fool's folly Julianne," she said softly. "Your parents married for love, my mother married for love. I believe that I would've married for love if the chance had presented itself. I don't think I would've been content with less."

Julianne sighed and momentarily increased her grip on her aunt's arm. "I am content here," she said softly. "Maybe if my parents see that…"  
"They will not let you stay Julianne."

The dark haired young woman frowned and shook her head. "But if I tell them…"

It was the ballet mistress's time to shake her head. "I've told you before Julianne, this is about more than you. You parents are afraid of the opera house. Both of them, even if your father refuses to acknowledge the past."

They walked in silence until Julianne stopped dead, pulling away from Meg. "Why?" she asked. "Why are they so afraid of this place Aunt Meg? What happened? I mean… I've been thinking. Even you are afraid and you've lived here almost all your life. I have asked you this so many times and you always say that it's not the time to answer."

Meg stopped and turned back to watch the young woman with her determined expression. She ached when she realized that the young woman must be feeling the same frustration she felt every time her mother refused to explain what her association with the opera ghost was. None the less, she knew that she could not tell all, and that it wasn't just her story to tell. She sighed and went back to the young woman.  
"We'll all tell you the story," she said. "I can't tell you alone Julianne. It's not just my story to tell. All of us, your mother, your father, even my mother and I. We're all tied together by this place. The managers and even Monsieur Reyer. Things happened in the past, terrible things. I've stopped believing that they were anybody's fault. But – it doesn't change what had happened."

Julianne's face went hard as she balled her firsts. "But it changes my life!" she snapped suddenly. "Their refusal to face their past, to _let it go_ is what has placed me in this situation! If I could just make them see that my life is not theirs, then maybe, maybe they will let me stay. If I stay here, I do not need to get married, do not need to leave Mons…" She bit down hard on her tongue, sniffed and turned her face away, hoping her aunt didn't notice the slip.

"I can have a life here," Julianne said softly. "Not a ghost of a life. I do not want to become a ghost Aunt Meg. If I go to Monsieur Mackenzie, that is exactly what will happen."

Meg had noticed the slip and it angered her suddenly that even here and now there were things Julianne hid from her. She looked around them then glared at the young woman.  
"But remember Julianne," she said sharply, "if you stay here the way you are – as Ann LeRoux, you will be living a lie. You are not her and you cannot hide from being Julianne de Changy. Living a lie is just as bad, and has an even higher price. Remember that. Things will change today, whether you want them to or not. But, if you use your head girl, if you act mature and speak to your parents as the adult that you've become here, then maybe, just maybe things will work out."

Her words had hurt the girl, as she knew it would. Julianne frowned at the world, fingers dancing over her cane's handle. She sniffed and touched her face with her other hand then nodded carefully as if coming to some internal decision.

"If it keeps me from becoming a ghost," she said softly. "I'll tell the truth. That's the price I'm willing to pay Aunt Meg."

&

To Be Continued…


	24. 23 Grand Reunion

Chapter 23:

**Chapter 23: Grand Reunion.**

They had expected to find their daughter in the Giry's apartment, instead though they only found the oldest member of the family. Madam Giry was sitting at the piano. Neither Christine nor Raoul had seen her in years and it was a shock for them both to see how she had aged. Meg had written to Christine about her mother's illness, a seemingly permanent infection of the lungs that was slowly but surely causing her to waste away. Physically, she wasn't the strong woman she use to be but, as she turned to look at them, both could still see the intelligent flame that burned behind her gaze, the silent, thoughtful observer that carried more secrets than she shared.

Under her gaze Christine's anger faltered and for a moment it was replaced by a mixture of fear and uncertainty. She stepped forward hesitantly, her eyes never leaving the only woman she could ever see as a mother.  
"Madam Giry?" she queried hesitantly. "Ah… Bonjour."

The woman's gaze softened immediately as she rose with a genuinely warm smile.  
"Ma chère Christine," she said with a smile. "My child." She spread her arms ever so slightly, asking the woman for an embrace.  
Christine felt like a twelve year old girl suddenly as she grinned, unable to help herself, and moved forward into the woman's embrace. The feeling of coming home washed over her unannounced as she hugged the older woman, the familiarity of her embrace and even her perfume enfolding her. They have not been keeping in touch for the past few years and Christine realized that she regretted it deeply because she missed the woman.  
Madam Giry hugged her tightly then gently pushed her away, her sharp eyes dancing over the changes time had left on her features.

"Oh," she whispered with a smile, "ma cheri. You have become…" Her hand gently caressed Christine's cheek, pushing some greying hairs behind her ear.  
Christine smiled embarrassed and, still feeling like a little girl, nodded and touched her hair self consciously. "It has been several years Madam," she said. "You… you look just the same."  
Madam Giry tapped her cheek affectionately. "You are still a terrible liar," she said with a small smile. "I am not immune to Time." She sighed deeply and turned her gaze to the other person in the room. "Bonjour Raoul."

The man shifted awkwardly and bowed slightly to her in respect. "Madam Giry, it has been too long."

The old ballet mistress considered him and smiled slightly. "It must be, if that's how you're treating me," she said with a wire smile. "Come here Raoul, I would like to think that I'm a part of the family, not an honorary guest."

He came forward then, slightly embarrassed, and allowed the woman to give him a quick hug. "We heard that your health has not been good," he said when he stepped away from here again. "How are you feeling at the moment? I believe Meg had written to Christine, saying that you went to Spain."

Madam Giry went over to the coat rack and retrieved her own. "My daughter makes a bigger fuss of it than she needs to," she said dismissively. "Yes, I have been ill but I am much better. Spain has done me wonders; I can understand why plants grow in the sunlight. I shall leave you for the moment. My daughter and yours should be here any time." She paused as she slipped on her coat. "I have to say you two, she is a magnificent young woman. No matter what the circumstances of her arrival, she has done you proud."

Despite her tense expression at the mention of her daughter, there was a flicker of a smile across Christine's features. "She should not have come here," she insisted though. "This place should not have touched our child."

Madam Giry shook her head sadly. "She has always been touched by this place Christine, she was fated to be," she said softly. "I do not approve of what my daughter has done, but perhaps, if you look at in from a different perspective, she had no choice."

Raoul's face had become very stoic. "Did you help her?" he asked in a very low voice, causing both Christine and the older woman to look at him. Christine frowned reprimanding but Madam Giry merely shook her head. "It is not my time anymore," she said. "That's something Megan will have to discover sooner or later. I had nothing to do with this, even less with your daughter. I heard that she is to be married to Monsieur François Mackenzie."

Raoul nodded stiffly, never taking his eyes from the Giry woman.  
"Yes," Christine spoke, "he is a good friend of the family. They have… He will give Julianne a good home."  
Madam Giry sighed and past looked them, deep in thought. "I tried to give you a good home Christine," she said softly then looked up sharply. "He is a dangerous man in Paris. But," she glanced at Raoul, "I think you know this. You can never predict the future."

They were unsure of what to make of her comment and she took their silence as a queue to leave. Smiling, Madam Giry took her cane by the door. "I'll see you before you leave," she said. "It was good seeing you both."

She left the room gracefully despite her limp leaving the married couple to look at each other in surprise when the door closed behind her.

&

They met Madam Giry just as she was coming out of the room. Meg looked at her mother apprehensively, her hand tightening in the crook of Julianne's arm.

"Mama," she whispered softly, glancing at the closed door. "Are they here?"

Madam Giry nodded and shifted her walking stick. She didn't say anything because there was nothing to say. With a nod in Meg's direction she continued to walk down the hallway. Her daughter turned to her for a moment, wanting to ask her for advice or even comfort but swallowing she steeled herself and rather turned to Julianne.  
Cupping the younger woman's face she stood on her toes and planted a light kiss on her forehead. "No matter what happens," she said softly. "I'll support you Julianne. Thank you for… loving me. You are very dear to my heart. I love you like a daughter. I cannot say this in front of your parents."

Julianne's face tightened with sudden emotion and she leaned forward impulsively and hugged her adopted aunt. "And you to me," she whispered. "Thank you for giving me this chance." They remained like that for a few moments until Julianne took a steadying breath. Pulling away from her aunt, she ran her hand over her face then felt along the wall until she found the door. Schooling her face, she took a deep breath and went inside.

&

The young woman who stepped into the room was not her daughter. Or rather, it was not the child who had disappeared from their home so many months ago.

Christine stared at her for several moments, shocked by the change time had left on her daughter. She was slimmer than she had been, paler probably because she spent less time outdoors than on the estates. She looked… Older somehow, her blue eyes carrying more weight than they had before. Yet, there was a confidence in her back that Christine realized she had been lacking for many months. _How could this place be good for her?_

Julianne stepped into the room, followed closely by Meg who closed the door behind her. Everybody stood in silence before Christine broke it.  
"Oh, Julianne," she exclaimed and rushed forward to embrace her daughter, tears forming in her eyes. Despite her obvious attempt to control her features Julianne grinned and returned her mother's fierce embrace.

"Ssh," she whispered and pressed her cheek against her mother's, feeling her tears. "It's alright mama, I'm alright. It's alright."

The woman squeezed her as hard as she could. "What were you thinking?" she reprimanded her daughter through the tears. "Coming all this way, alone Julianne! What were you thinking?"

The younger woman ran her hand up and down her mother's back. "I was never alone mama," she said with a patronising smile. "It's alright; I've been doing well mama."

Christine didn't reply, overwhelmed by seeing her eldest. She closed her eyes and held her a little longer before stepping away, keeping her hand on her daughter's arm.  
"Your father's here," she said and wiped her face. "Raoul?"  
Her husband stepped forward quietly and replaced his hand with Christine. He didn't say anything immediately but studied his daughter's features. She had moved her head in her mother's direction when she moved away, before looking up and around, her free hand coming up tentatively.  
"Papa?"

She found his chest and confidently moved her hand up to touch his face, her fingers quickly moving to explore the contour of his mouth and the lines behind his eyes.  
"Papa, don't be so mad." Her voice was smaller, soft in comparison to the one she had used with her mother.  
Raoul closed his eyes and in a moment that looked like pure agony pulled his daughter forward and hugged her fiercely. "We will talk of this when we are alone," his voice was stern filled with yearning and anger. "You have shamed us Julianne."  
Julianne's back stiffed but she didn't pull away from him. Meg on the other hand gasped at his words and stepped forward. "How dare you Raoul?" she snapped. "Damned it, can't you even say hello to her properly before upsetting her?"

Raoul turned in her direction but Julianne moved quickly, grabbing his wrist at the same time she turned in her aunt's direction.  
"It's alright Aunt Meg," she said, her voice tight from withholding her tears of shame. "Please, don't fight. It's alright. Yes Papa," she turned back to her father, taking his hand in hers. "Yes, I have made a mistake in the manner that I did this. I am very sorry for shaming you and _maman_. Please forgive me."

She kept her head down, not daring to move. Both the women looked at Raoul, their expressions fierce. He looked at them, then sighed and closed his eyes. Touching Julianne's shoulder he rested his head against hers.  
"You are forgiven _ma fille_," he said softly. "But you have to understand the seriousness of your actions. For yourself and the family."

Meg looked as if she wanted to say something else but Christine quickly held up her hand to silence her. The woman glared at her best friend but clenched her mouth and crossed her arms.

Julianne nodded gravely. "I do papa," she said meekly. "I really am very sorry for the worry and trouble I put you through."

Raoul touched his chest momentarily and sighed deeply. "It's alright Julianne," he said softly and hugged her again. "What's important is that we are here with you now." He stepped away from her and looked at Meg. "Can you pack her stuff please? I'll send someone to come and collect it. It's time for us to start going."

Christine blinked and frowned at her husband. "Raoul," she said in a warning tone as she saw her daughter frown puzzled.

"Going where?" she asked. "You just got here."

Raoul kept his hand on his daughter's shoulder as if he never intended to loose touch with her again. "We're going to François Mackenzie," he said. "No arguments, from any of you. He's expecting us."

Julianne's expression became panicked. "This soon? But," she turned her head in the direction of her aunt. "Are we… You want some tea certainly. Mama, papa, you just got here."

Christine sighed and shook her head with a clicking sound. "No Julianne," she said. "It…" She looked around her. "We can't stay here long."

Julianne turned her head in her direction. "You are welcome," she insisted. "Aunt Meg…"

"The decision is not hers!" Raoul snapped, making her flinch. "Julianne, your fiancé is expecting us. After what you've put him through, I feel that the least we can do is present you to him to show him that you are safe."

Julianne stood very still for a moment then, with a horrified expression pulled away from her father shook her head. "Not now," she said. "We can't go to him yet."

Meg's face was one of sad understanding but even Christine questioned her daughter's strange reaction.  
"Why not ma chéri?" she queried softly.

Julianne breathed deeply a few times, opening and closing her mouth in an attempt to speak. Then, closing her eyes she shook her head.  
"Because I'm not going to marry him," she said softly. "And, I want time to tell you why before we see him again…"

&

Antoinette Giry made the slow trip to the roof, her mind turning around with thoughts of the past and present. Time had a habit of functioning in strange circles. It was proven time and again in history yet she would never have thought that such circles can move in generations as well.

_Was Julianne fate's attempt at correcting the mistakes of her parents?_ Or even, was she fate's _second attempt_ to give happiness a man that his features denied him.  
She didn't know and didn't like to think that way. None the less, there were some circles that had to close – even if their debts could never be repaid.

Reaching the roof, Antoinette took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She knew that she could come here again if she wanted to, but somehow – never again for the reason she was here now.

She closed her eyes and let her senses carry her to the Phantom of the Opera. He was sitting at the same place where she had found him all those years ago when he had come back from his long absence and disturbingly, he looked just as broken as he looked then. When his eyes turned up to her, they were dark and angry. Her heart ached for him, for she knew the cause of his anguish.  
"You know then?" she said softly. "You know that they are here?"

He nodded and pushed himself up slowly.  
"Why?"

It took all she had not to answer that question. Instead, she went to the small wall and stood as close as she dared to him.  
"You saved my daughter," she said softly, "all those years ago. Through keeping her alive, you saved me as well, for my life would not have been worth living without her."

He didn't respond, didn't seem to hear her at all.  
"Why are _they_ here?" he persisted. "Why are they in Paris?"

Instead of answering, she turned to him and studied him for a very long time, the anger in his shoulders, the hurt portrayed in his hands. The strange darkness that lingered around the bone white mask. She closed her eyes and shook her head.  
"Ask my daughter."

Her answer shocked him out of his reverie as he turned sharply and stared at her. They looked at each other for a long time, his gaze as insistent as hers were sad.  
"No." he said finally, the answer ringing with the finality of a grave. She ignored his tone though and shook her head.  
"It's time Monsieur," she said levelly. "I promised you that I will always be your eyes and ears and, when she is old enough, for my daughter to take over this role. Megan will finally understand after today. It is her duty now, her legacy. It is time that you asked her."

He moved like a snake, his cry like a wounded animal.  
"No!" he snapped as his hand enclosed around her throat. "No, I will not let you go. You are my eyes and ears. _You._"

She coughed as his hand tightened, but took care to keep her face placid. "No Monsieur," she said her voice only slightly strained. "Let me go Monsieur, my time is finished. My daughter is responsible for these events; I will not answer for them. Kill me if you will, if you are still _that_ man."

Agony, anger and anguish flicked behind the mask like flames yet, finally – she felt his hand relax. Breathing a sigh of relief Antoinette closed her eyes and gently removed the man's hand from her throat.  
"You are not that man anymore Monsieur," she whispered. "You are not a murder anymore. Time has changed you. I am very proud of you."

He closed his eyes and turned away from her. Antoinette didn't ask for permission but carefully leaned over and wrapped an arm around his waist.  
"My daughter will give you the answers, if you still desire them," she said softly. "Good bye Maitre. You have been good to me these past few years. You made me welcome in your home in Spain, know that you will always be welcome in mine."

She left him, unable to respond, guiltily knowing that she had just hurt him when he was already so vulnerable. But, she thought as she brushed her own tears from her face, it was time. It was time for Meg to face the consequences of her actions, to see the effect of what her decisions had, not only on the de Changy family, but the Ghosts who accompanied them.

It pained her, but it was _time_.

&

"What?"  
Raoul's shocked voice was the first one to break the numb silence that Julianne's statement had created. The young woman's blind gaze danced frantically around the room before she took a steadying breath and ran her hand over her face.  
"Please," she begged. "Please, can we all sit down? I have to explain. Papa…"

Her father shook his head, making the same clicking noise with his tongue that Christine had made.

"No," he said sharply. "What foolishness is this Julianne? Meg, do you have anything to do with this?"

There was an air of self righteousness in Meg's eyes as she shook her head. "No," she said blankly. "I generally leave Julianne to make her own decisions."

Raoul gave her a sharp look but Christine carefully intervened as she physically stepped between the two. "Enough," she snapped. "Julianne, what do you mean ma chéri?"

Her daughter's face was desperate as she clutched a cane Christine wasn't familiar with.  
"You never gave me a choice," she said tensely. "Always, always, you just assumed that I would go along with it. It was assumed that I would say yes. It was assumed that I would be happy with the match. It was assumed that I could not have a better future, especially because I'm _blind_." Her hand pointed sharply to her face. "You never stopped and asked me my honest opinion. Not once."

Christine was the first to recover from her daughter's tirade. "My love," she said softly. "You make it sound as if we forced you to say yes. We didn't."  
Julianne's gaze was quite fierce when it searched out her mother's. "No," she said bitterly. "But, if you remember correctly, _you_ told me that I should say yes because you won't be able to take care of me forever. That a marriage like this was something someone of my _disposition_ could only dream of." Her eyes were fierce. "I felt that if I didn't say yes I was condemning you to have me as a burden for the rest of yours and my brothers' lives!"

Christine clutched her chest and swept her gaze to Meg. The woman's eyes were weighing but she didn't say anything. Instead she moved to take her mother's place on the piano seat. She didn't seem as if she wished to comment for either side.

Christine closed her eyes and tried to find a voice. "I didn't mean it that way Julianne," she said. "You are not a burden. I… I told you that and urged you to marry François because I want to make sure that you are… happy. You liked the man. He certainly loves you."

Julianne's mouth thinned as she shook her head. "He doesn't love me," she said darkly. "I don't think he can."  
Raoul stepped up sharply and took her wrist. "That is very rude!" he said. "He was very hurt when we told him that you had gone to England. He enquired about your whereabouts almost every week, begged us to send someone to go and collect you. He was the one who let us know that you were here."

Julianne flinched at her father's touch but stood her ground. "Even if that is true," she said, "I don't love him papa. I'm not even sure I like him. I am not happy with him, not like you and mama are. I can feel how much you two love each other. With him… There's just nothing. I feel more from…" she stumbled a bit, "complete strangers than him. I cannot marry him papa. I can't."

His grip tightened on her wrist as he glanced at his wife. She was looking at her daughter in a shocked silence and he knew that for now, she would not make any comments.  
"These are foolish ideas," Raoul said sharply. "Julianne, I will not hear of this. You have had your fun, you have had your time and adventure. You will find that François is a willing partner and he will be a good husband. I will not see you…"  
Christine moved to her daughter's other side and rested a light hand on her shoulder. "Raoul, quiet. Please," she said softly. "Listen to your daughter. Hear her words for heaven's sake. Julianne," she whispered her name softly and with all the warmth a mother could manage. "It's alright. If you think that you will be this unhappy, we can't do this to you. At the very least, I think we will ask Monsieur Mackenzie to extend the engagement and give you more time. Right husband?"

There was a slight shift from the piano bench as Meg leaned forward in anticipation for Raoul's reply. The man's gaze danced desperately between the two women before he tightened his mouth in anger. "I will not permit this!" he snapped. "Julianne will marry François Mackenzie and that is the end of it. This is just fear of the unknown talking Julianne, and I didn't raise my daughter to be afraid of the future."

"Raoul!" Christine snapped aghast. "How can you say that? Don't listen to your father Julianne; I don't know what madness possesses him."

Raoul let go of his daughter's wrist and stepped back, facing his wife in anger. "Madness?" he snapped. "You speak of what you do not know! Julianne will marry François Mackenzie and that is the end of it."  
Meg sat forward and clasped her hands in front of her, her gaze never leaving the de Changy head. "What does your wife not know of?" she whispered. "Are you implying that she is ignorant? A fool? Are you implying the same about your daughter?"

At first, Raoul glared at the woman. "They don't understand!" he snapped which was the wrong thing to say.

Christine, who had pulled Julianne closer into a tight embrace, tensed and glared at her husband. "Understand what?" she queried. "What is so complicated about our daughter's happiness?"

He looked desperate suddenly, like a man who had realized that he was falling and that there was no way to stop it.  
"She has to marry François," he said his tone switching from anger to panic. "She has to." He looked at his family members, pleading them to understand without dragging an explanation from them but Meg would not give them the chance to be merciful.  
"Why Raoul?" she asked. "Is it for the money?"

Christine rounded on her best friend with a sharp, "Meg!" but her husband dropped his head defeated and closed his eyes.  
"Yes," he whispered. "Yes, it's for the money."  
Meg sat back, strangely smug and whispered softly. "I knew it."  
Christine herself was too shocked to say anything, but just looked at her husband as if she had never seen him before. Raoul opened his eyes and stared at her desperately.  
"It's not like that," he whispered, his voice tight. "It's not for me, it's for the family. I… I… Christine."

She stepped away from him, pulling a shaken Julianne with her. "Don't say my name," she snapped. "Not after what… Why Raoul? Why?"  
He could not answer her but strangely looked at Meg. She met his gaze and sighed.  
"Debt," she said softly as Christine turned to look at her. "Your husband has been bankrupt for years. I have always suspected…"

Julianne stepped away from both her parents, moving back until she felt the wall behind her. Her eyes were wide with horror as silent tears streamed down her cheek.  
"You mean," she said hoarsely. "That… That I am not a burden." All three adults turned to look at her and she sat down and covered her face.  
"I'm not a burden," she whispered. "I'm not even a prize. I'm merely… merely…"  
Her blind eyes looked up, beyond them.  
"I'm merely payment."

&

To Be Continued…


	25. 24 Avoir des Dette

**Chapter 24: ****Avoir des Dette****. **

"You never met my brother," Raoul said softly from his chair by the door. "But, he had been a good man and very smart."

Two of the women in the room looked at him coldly, but the third remained down with her head in her hands. Meg, sitting with Julianne on the piano bench hugged the young woman and stood up to get her some of the tea she had brought to the room. Standing next to a dresser in the other side of the apartment - as far away from her husband as she could, Christine watched her but didn't dare approach her or her daughter. She couldn't make herself comfort the stricken child, not after what she had almost made her do. She hugged herself and turned her eyes on her husband.  
_I don't know you any more,_ she thought bitterly. _Somehow, somewhere we've lost each other._

"I never understood why Phillipe didn't marry," Raoul continued like a man who had lost all hope. "He was popular enough in society, was obviously very financially secure and kind enough to make me think that he wanted children of his own." The man shrugged and sighed. "It's irrelevant now really. The fact that he never married made life very easy for me. I didn't have to think about money, because he was there to do it for me. We never made provision or preparation that he would not be around to take care of me." Meg had placed a cup of tea in Julianne's hands, but the young woman made no attempt to drink it. Sighing softly, the ballet mistress put an arm around her shoulder again and resumed staring at Raoul coldly. The man had paused to watch them but at her gaze carried on quickly. "You have to understand," he begged, "my brother taught me everything that I needed to do to remain a popular figure in society, but he never taught me so much as a scratch of working with money. He never fully explained how our estates worked, where our assets were. What happened in the stock markets or… or anything. I was too young, busy…" He glanced at Christine who turned her face away from him. "In love. And then there was this business with the…" He stopped before Meg could stop him, his eyes returning to his daughter.

"The point is that, after my brother died, I made mistakes." He glanced at his hands, clenched them and shook his head. "Financial mistakes. They started small, selling stock instead of holding onto them. Buying assets when I should've focused on my capital. And, there are always expenses. Wages, taxes, repairs to the estates. We were still large patrons of the Opera, even after everything that happened here." Julianne stirred but didn't look up. "The mistakes started to add up over the years and pretty soon, I was loosing more money than I was making."  
Christine looked at her husband for the first time, her eyes dark with desperate anger.  
"Why didn't you tell me?" she queried. "Raoul, why keep this all from me?"

He looked like a scared child when his eyes brushed over hers, unable to hold her gaze out of shame. "I didn't want you… You were use to a certain standard of living. A life that I gave you. I didn't want you to think that I couldn't take care of you." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "And, you had other concerns. You had the boys and Julianne to take care of. I didn't want you to worry about unnecessary things."

There was a sharp crack followed by the heart stopping sound of a cup breaking. Christine had hit the dresser out of anger causing Julianne to jump and drop her cup. Nobody moved to pick it up though.  
"Unnecessary things?!" Christine cried. "Raoul, this affected our _family_. And, don't blame me! A _certain standard of living_? My father was a sickly violinist! After his death I grew up in the Opera House where I was forever sharing my things and living in close quarters to dozens of people! I didn't care about our standard of living; I just cared about our family! Our life together! I didn't need pretty things! A good life! I just needed you!"

Raoul responded with his own anger as his light eyes blazed in defence. "You say that now," he snapped. "But you didn't _just_ care about your family Christine. You were forever comparing, forever thinking of what your life would've been like if you had gone with _him_ instead of me. Whenever you tended your roses, whenever you spend time with Julianne. You made me feel as if I had to _prove_ that I could take better care of you than _he_ could. Or, that I had to constantly keep you secure against him!"

Christine stood back shocked, then clenched her fist and pointed a finger at her husband. "Don't blame ghosts Raoul! Don't! This is no ghost's fault! This is you not trusting me! Don't lay your insecurities at my feet I…"

"Stop it!" Julianne's shout cut off her mother's, startling all of the people in the room as she stood up. Tears were running down her face as she turned her head between where she judged her two parents to be. "Stop it," she said softer. "I am the only ghost in this room! You talk over me as if I don't exist! Stop it."

Meg blinked then quickly touched Julianne's wrist. "Easy my pet," she said softly. "Please, easy." Julianne turned her head towards the woman and clenched her fist as if she meant to fight against her but then took a visible breath to calm herself and allowed the woman to pull her down again. She leaned forward before settling and picked up the dark cane. Meg rubbed her back then turned to Raoul.

"Reason's got nothing to do with it," she said softly. "Please, carry on. When did you approach Mackenzie?"

Raoul's gaze was that of a broken man when he looked at his daughter. Neither of the de Chagny's knew how to handle her anger. Guilt seemed to cease all action.  
"He approached me," Raoul whispered defeated. "Or, his father did. First with advice, later with offers of help. I accepted his money before I saw the true price of it. Too late I realized that he and his son had played me. They would give me financial advice which would earn me a franc here and there, but in the long run would cost me plenty. I believed truly that François at least was a family friend. Then, his father died a few years ago and suddenly, all the debts had to be collected. Every single franc repaid. I had not kept track of how much he had given me and… I can tell you, the amount was an astronomical one." There was a bitter twist in his mouth. "I tried to bargain, tried to plea. I couldn't even sell some of the estates and I couldn't approach my sisters for help. I couldn't burden their family and I couldn't face them knowing that I had squandered our family fortune." His eyes turned to Meg. "You will understand this better than Christine would, but owing François Mackenzie money is like having him owe every last of bit of your flesh." He glanced at Julianne. "And kin." His mouth tightened. "You were al threatened. Christine, Julianne, dear Philibert and little Martine. He had the power to call terrible things down on you all. If it was just me I could've just let it be… But…" He stopped suddenly and closed his eyes. "I just couldn't do that to you."

Meg's mouth was tight when she shook her head sharply. "So you sold your daughter instead?" she asked bitterly.

Raoul frowned and shook his head sharply. "I didn't sell her," he said defensively. "It was more complicated than that. François had expressed an interested in Julianne from the beginning. There was a reasonable age difference between them and Julianne is… a beautiful young woman." The last was said with a lot of warmth and fondness. "She's funny, well mannered, talented. I thought that his interest was genuine. A year or two ago he came to me and said that he would annul all my debts if in turn he could have Julianne's hand in marriage. He would then also help the family so that the boys would each one day have something small to inherit. It was a good gesture and it would certainly have solved all our problems. I believe that it was a good chance for Julianne as well. As I told you," he glanced at Christine, "he would take care of her. It was a good marriage for her."

The room was quiet for a moment until Christine snorted bitterly and shook her head. "Two birds with one stone," she said scornfully, then looked at her husband pleadingly. "I still can't understand why Raoul," she said softly. "Just… Why? You could've told me. And how, _how_ could you ever think of doing something like this to our daughter?"

Raoul opened his mouth and tried to meet his wife's eyes but couldn't. He dropped his head and clenched his hands again. "I thought his interest was genuine," he said again. "He stood nothing to gain from the marriage. His interest must've been for Julianne. There's nothing else." He frowned and looked up when he heard Meg sigh and shook her head.  
"You're wrong Raoul," she said quietly, keeping her hand on Julianne's wrist. "He had a lot to gain, even if it wasn't material. The de Chagny name stands for something in certain circles. Even if he married your daughter would he have claim on the societies that open up for him. With Mackenzie, it's more than just financial gain. He plays a bigger game than that here. Not everything is about money in this world. And, Julianne is the perfect kind of wife for someone like him. He would be able to control her every move. Everything she has access to and Ann… Julianne would have to comply because there are some things that she just can't do by herself." She touched the young woman's shoulder. "I'm sorry for saying it that way _ma cheri_."

Julianne shook her head and touched her aunt's shoulder. "C'est rien Aunt," she said softly and stood up. Without acknowledging her parents she quietly left the room. Christine waited until her daughter closed the door behind her before she turned to Raoul.  
"What would he do?" she queried. "If we tell him now that Julianne doesn't want to marry him? What will happen?"

Raoul sighed and closed his eyes. "Any number of things," he said. "And none of them pleasant. Especially for Julianne, the world is an unforgiving place towards those who are imperfect."

&

She went to the roof because there was no where else to go, the words of her father still ringing in her ears. _His interest was genuine. It was a good match. The world is an unforgiving place…_

She closed her eyes against the tears, trying to wish away the pain she was feeling. _Why was everybody so obsessed with imperfection? Would that rule her life forever? And… Money?_

She would never have thought, never have known that that was the reason behind her marriage with François Mackenzie, but in a quiet way it made sense. And, she could not believe her father. His interest was not genuine. How could it be? If it had been, he would've loved her.

Julianne pushed open the roof door, feeling the familiar breath of Paris on her face. She would've thought that her happiest moment in the Opera would've been the day she sang at the Gala evening, but instead she found that she cherished her moments on the roof the most. And Monsieur Erik…

When she had come here to find him the first time, barely an hour or two ago, she had been unsuccessful but now Julianne could clearly sense that there was somebody else present. She paused by the door and step forward hesitantly.  
"Monsieur Erik?" she queried, carefully measuring the steps with her cane even if she knew them by heart. "Monsieur, is that you?"

There was a sound, a shifting of material. She smiled suddenly and stepped forward. He was the only one who sounded like that when he moved. "Monsieur, I'm so glad to find you I…"  
"Leave me Ann."  
Julianne stopped and frowned puzzled. "Monsieur?"

He shifted again as if turning away from her. Biting her lip she hesitantly made her way to him. "Monsieur, I need to talk to you."

He moved before she reached him, her cane telling her that she had touched his cloak or shoe before he moved out of her reach. "We all have things that we _need_ Ann," he said with a bitterness she didn't associate with him. "It's not the way of the world to allow us what we want."  
With her heart beating a rapid taboo in her chest, Julianne swallowed dryly, suddenly fighting tears. "Monsieur, what happened?" _Had he found out? Was it something she did?_

"You wouldn't understand."

Trying to push her own needs away, Julianne once again tried to judge where he was. "I may," she said softly. "I'm… your friend Monsieur. Please, tell me."

The bitter laugh was not his. "Friend?" he queried. "I have no friends. You are a silly little girl with a silly little talent. You wouldn't understand Ann because you cannot _see._ Now leave me, I have no time for you today."

There was finality in his words that she could not argue against.

Julianne found herself blinking painful tears. She sniffed and rubbed at her face with a shaky hand. "I…" She didn't know what to say. "I'm… sorry Monsieur." She bowed forward in his direction. "Please forgive me. I… Good bye Monsieur."

She waited, prayed that he would say something in return but when there was no reply she turned around, tears streaming down her face, and carefully made her way off of the roof.

&

They were still talking, still uselessly trying to find a way out of this dilemma. More words had been exchanged. Angry words. Christine had never felt so betrayed in her life. It wasn't a comfortable feeling and guiltily she wondered suddenly how the Phantom must've felt when he thought she betrayed him with Raoul.  
_Which you had done, in the beginning_…

She turned to Meg who had been sitting quietly on the piano bench, watching as she and Raoul exchanged bitter words.  
"Did you know?" she asked accusingly. "Did you know about all of this?"

Meg sighed and shook her head. She was beginning to look more and more like her mother. "I suspected," she said. "There had been… Rumours. Nothing concrete but, when you listen…" She shrugged and made a vague motion with her hand. "I had been suspicious when you told me that François Mackenzie wanted to marry Julianne. He didn't feel like the kind of man who would associate himself with someone in her disposition. And, I've known for years that Raoul had stopped being a sponsor of the Opera. It hadn't made sense really, because he had still given money after your marriage. Things were following an all too familiar pattern. I never _knew_ but, as I said, I had suspected."

Christine's eyes were just as accusing as they had been for Raoul. "You should've told me," she pointed out bitterly but Meg shook her head.  
"It wasn't my place," she said simply. "I couldn't interfere with your marriage."  
Raoul snorted and glared at her. "But you could interfere with Julianne's."

Meg returned the glare easily. "I never encouraged her," she said self-righteously. "I merely made sure that she didn't hurt herself. She had been pretty determined to come here, I just made sure she got here in one piece."

There was an uncomfortable silence as the two parents looked at each other. Christine swallowed and folded her arms in front of her chest. "She spoke of a guardian angel in almost all her letters," she said cautiously. "Meg, has she met anybody here?"

The ballet mistress snorted and shook her head. "If she has," she said dry, "she hasn't been open about it. In that way, she is your daughter."  
Christine made an indignant sound. "I never kept any secrets from you! I told you about the Phantom!" Naming him brought a sudden chill to the room but Meg ignored it as she shook her head.

"Not in the beginning," she said heatedly. "You kept your secrets close Christine. You only told me about him after Hannibal, that night in the chapel. Never before that. Never. I always knew that you disappeared and sometimes, sometimes I imagined hearing someone singing to you softly when you were on your own. But, you never told me about any of it. Never a whisper, never a hint." The betrayal in her voice was unmistakable. Christine stepped back against the wall as if she had been slapped, unable to think of anything to say. Meg in turn didn't say anything to make her words lighter, but stared at her blankly until the door opened.  
All three turned to see Julianne enter, her face painted with tears. She didn't speak immediately but stood in the middle of the room, turning her dark cane over and over in her hands.  
"Enough," she whispered softly then cleared her throat and spoke louder. "You can all be quiet. Please. I'll marry him. This was never meant to be permanent; I only came to the Opera to see a little bit of the world, not to avoid my… duty. If I can do this for my family then so be it. I'll marry François Mackenzie."  
A wave of silence followed in the wake of her words. A mixture of horrified relief crossed Raoul's features. He made to stand up to go towards his daughter but both his wife and Meg's furious glares stopped him. Christine too tried to approach her daughter but stopped. She looked shocked, unable to comprehend what she heard and looked at her childhood friend to see her reaction. Meg too was shocked to silence, but instead of shock and relief, her face was painted with fury. She stood up to say something but Julianne's face snapped towards hers.  
"Leave it Aunt," she said softly. "Don't make it harder for me. This is my choice, please… Please respect it. My life here was an illusion as you said. It's time to face the truth." She sighed softly and glanced at her parents. "I have to say good bye to a few people. Could you give me an hour maybe? I understand that you do not like to be here so you can go somewhere else for the time being. We'll wait for you at the steps. Aunt Meg, will you come with me please?" She moved without waiting for a reply, as if merely stopping to listen or hear their reactions would sway her in her choice. Meg moved mechanically, too stunned to speak. She couldn't even find the reserves to glare at the two remaining de Chagny's. She followed Julianne quickly, before the girl disappeared. By the time she closed the door behind her, the young woman was already at the end of the corridor.

"Julianne, wait!" she said quickly and trotted after her ward. "Child, please just wait for a moment!"

At first it appeared as if Julianne wouldn't stop but then, without warning she halted dead and leaned against the wall, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. Reaching her, Meg touched her shoulder, making a soothing sound.  
"This is madness Julianne!" she said desperately. "You can't marry him. You can't! You decided that you wouldn't. That was your choice, you cannot just change your mind!"

Julianne's face was twisted in pain as she clutched her cane to her chest. "I have to," she breathed. "Aunt Meg, for my family I have to! And… And…" She closed her eyes and tried to control her sobbing. "I cannot stay here. How can I?" She swallowed and shook her head. "No Aunt Meg, please. I… I only need to say good bye to Helena. But, even that can wait. I… I need you to help me write a letter."

Meg frowned and nodded, remembering too late that Julianne couldn't see the gesture. "Of course," she said instead. "Of course _ma cheri_, I will help you."  
Julianne nodded to herself and took a deep breath. "I need you to promise to tell no one," she said softly. "Not even my parents. I am breaking a promise… but it can't be help. I have to say good bye to him and he won't listen…"  
Meg took an uncontrolled step back, her blood running cold.

"Him?"

&

Exactly an hour later, Mademoiselle Megan Giry watched as Julianne Christine de Chagny turned her head in the Opera's direction one last time before the coach driver pulled away. She was leaving, forever. Meg wasn't even sure when she would be allowed to see her again. She couldn't say good bye though, could not put that burden on Julianne when she was already forced to carry so much.

_It would've been fair though,_ she thought suddenly. _The child had put an even heavier one on her shoulders._

"Take it to the roof," had been Julianne's last desperate plea towards the woman who had taken care of her while the opera had been her home. "Promise me Aunt, promise me you will take it to the roof."

Meg's hand touched the letter in an inner pocket fold in her dress. _How could she make that promise? How?_  
"It's not that easy is it?"

She whirled around to see her mother standing behind her. There was a sad light in the woman's eyes, but also – it looked as if a burden had been lifted. Like a ship that had lifted its anchor on a calm sea, Madam Antoinette Giry seemed to drift around freely in the turbulence around her.

"What?" Meg managed, her mouth dry.  
The sad light sharpened as Madam Giry looked up to the retreating coach then, in a second, glanced at the roof. "Seeing someone you love pulled along by forces beyond your control."

The letter crackled as Meg's hand tightened on it. "It seemed pretty easy for you!" she snapped. "All those years, letting Christine be taken by that monster. And now… Now her daughter… Now Julianne… My Ann…"

Madam Giry's eyes travelled to where Meg's hand was clenched in her pocket. "That letter is for him?"

The younger woman stared at her mother before she glanced up at the roof and pulled her inside. "Yes!" she snapped as soon as they were inside, her voice echoing through the empty foyer. "And you do not even look surprised!"

Madam Giry sighed and shifted her weight away from her bad hip. "From what you've been telling me Megan, I'm surprised that you are. You told me as much the day I arrived."  
Meg pulled the letter out of her pocket and held it under her mother's nose. "But it wasn't confirmed!" she said. "But this… This! She wants me to deliver it to a man _wearing a mask._" Her hands were shaking uncontrollably but Madam Giry paid it no mind.  
"Then if it is for him," she said calmly and started turning around, "then I suggest you take it. It will do no good to linger Megan."

She meant to walk away but Meg's words stopped her. "I won't take it!" the younger woman snapped. "I will not carry this forward!" She crumbled the letter. "You take it! You know him! This is your doing! It has been from the start!"

Madam Giry smiled ruefully and turned sideways to glance at her daughter. "My doing?" she queried softly. "My dear daughter. No, it was not my doing. If you wish to assign blame, look to yourself. You brought Julianne here, no matter how you try to justify your actions to yourself. Your reasons are your own, it is not my place to judge you – as it is not your place to judge me. I always did what's best for you, and it is time that you come to understand that."

Meg shook her head fiercely. "I didn't start this," she snapped. "You did, twenty, _thirty_ years ago by allowing that monster near Christine. Life would've been so different without _him._"

There was a sad light in Antoinette Giry's eyes as she turned around and walked to her daughter. "Yes," she said gently. "For one, I would not have had you."

Meg blinked shocked, gaping at her mother. The woman used her silence to carry on speaking as she reached up and gently caressed her daughter's cheek.  
"You have to take that letter Meg," she said softly, "because this is your legacy as much as it is Christine's, Raoul's or even Julianne's. You are woven into this story even if you have felt apart of it your whole life. And, it is finally time for you to understand that and take the responsibility of your actions."

Meg took an uncontrolled step back away from her mother. "What do you _mean?"_

Her mother looked up beyond her and sighed softly.  
"Years ago," she said softly. "I rescued a man from the cruel fate his face bestowed on him. The only payment I ever asked from him was to take care of you, my child. I didn't think about this request again, nor did I think that he would take it seriously. But then, weeks after he found his way here, a month after I brought Christine to the Opera, I found you, crying in his arms. I thought terrible things of him in that moment, hated him and vowed that I would make sure that he was found. Then, when you calmed down, it turned out that he saved you from a fall that would've killed you. I think that you are too young to remember this, my dear." Meg took another step back, her hand clutched over her chest. Her mother's eyes bore into hers. "Because he saved you," the woman continued calmly, "and because I had… Betrayed him in a way by accusing him of hurting you, I promised my life to him. And, of course, yours – because it belonged to him. I had vowed to him, all those years ago, that I will take care of him until you could take over that duty from me. Not only that, but I became his eyes and ears, his… servant perhaps, though it was more than that."

Meg took another step back, gaping at her mother in horror.  
"You cannot blame me for this," she breathed. "You had not right to promise me… I should not take this forward!"

Madam Giry shrugged, her eyes never leaving her daughter's. "Perhaps if you had never brought Julianne here then yes, then we would've left it. I would've left it and he wouldn't have held you to my promise." Her eyes grew sharper. "But, you already carried this forward Meg. You already made that choice. Now, this responsibility is yours. I have told him already, I will not be a part of this. This is not my legacy anymore. You took it up when you brought the daughter of Christine Daae and Raoul de Chagny to this Opera house. When your actions ultimately led them back here."

She turned around suddenly, and started walking away. As if her mother's eyes had been the force keeping her up, Meg found her knees collapsing under her.

"I cannot force you to take the letter to him," her mother continued without turning around. "Ultimately, I guess that it is your choice. But, _ma cheri_, you will find that this duty, this depth, is an undeniable force. It is an act already written…"

&

To Be Continued…


	26. 25 The Daughter

Chapter 25:

**Chapter 25: The Daughter. **

It was only when the night chill crept across the Paris rooftops that he felt his anger slowly ebbing away. He took a deep breath, not as the Phantom, but as a tired, lonely man.

_Why does the world deny him happiness?_ He wondered quietly, watching the people below him. _Was it not meant for him to live quietly? Content?_ _Would it have been too much to ask that he lives out the rest of his life none the wiser to that of Christine Daae and Raoul de Changy?_

He sighed and closed his eyes. He could feel no anger or hate as the coldness of the night swept over him. Instead, the visage of Antoinette Giry drifted before him and her words cut deeper into the hole of loneliness.  
_Ask my daughter._  
Those words had signalled the end of an era for them. She had taken their history and pulled it away from him. Did she know that it had long since ceased being about her daughter, ceased being about the duty they were both sworn to? Antoinette Giry had come to represent a constant in his life that he had never thought he would have. She had served him quietly and loyally since his return to the Opera. She had dragged him through those dark months with a quiet passion that no murderer deserved or had right to. And, in her own way she had loved him. He knew that from her words and her touch.  
He felt safe with her and now, she had taken even that security away from him.

_My daughter will give you the answers, if you still desire them. _

Little Meg Giry, the young child he had seen grow into a fine woman. Although he had had no say in it, he had been strangely pleased when her mother convinced her to become the Opera's ballet mistress. Although he rarely thought about it, their lives moved parallel to each other. They had both fled the Opera the moment they could yet, they returned - thinking themselves _forced_ by circumstances, but silently knowing that they were unable to stay away. He had always had a bond with the child, whose life he had saved all those years ago. Although he consciously tried to avoid her, even when he was training Christine, she always sensed when he was near. In an alien kind of way, it had been a small delight watching her mature into the woman she was now.

Yet, he knew that she held no love for him. He knew that she held him responsible, and rightfully so, for all the sorrow in her life. The loss of her best friend, her own need to move away from her home, maybe even the rift that her mother's secret brought between them. How could he possibly approach her? Yet – her mother also made it sound as if _she_ was the reason for the de Chagny's return. What could she have possibly done that made them come back?

And, of course, if he approached her she will have more reason to warn Ann…  
He straightened suddenly and looked around him, barely taking note of the darkness that had fallen on the roof.  
_Ann…_  
His own words came back to him. _I have no friends. You are a silly little girl with a silly little talent. You wouldn't understand Ann, because you cannot _see_._

A new pain flared through his chest, an unknown, heart wrenching feeling that left him gasping in shame.  
"What have I done?" he whispered softly. "Oh Ann…"

&

Sitting in the Opera Chapel, Megan Giry felt as if her whole world had collapsed around her for a second time.

She had not come here in years, not since _those_ events and _that_ night. It had changed her as surely as it had changed the Opera and those around her. She will never forget the horror she had felt when she saw her best friend disappear in the arms of a murderer, nor will she forget the fear that she had felt when she saw the mob tear through his lair. The crash of the chandelier had echoed through her mind and for years she would wake up in the middle of the night to the imagined sound of breaking glass.  
She looked up at the letter she had written for Ann, the words that had not been hers own staring boldly at her, taunting her.  
_To Monsieur Erik…_

Letters had dominated her childhood, letters written by the ghostly hand of the Phantom. They had never been for her of course, always for dear Monsieur Lefèvre and later Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin and all the other members of the Opera. Letters of praise, of anger and of threats. For her, there were no letters but gifts. A book, a Chinese puzzle box. A mask left in a dark cavern…

Meg looked at the letter where it was propped up between the unlit candles and numbly glanced around her. She found the self strike match and picked it up with shaky hands. Taking a deep breath she struck it and held it out to the letter. Instead she found herself lighting a candle, her eyes immediately mesmerized by the dancing flame. She felt like that little light in this dark hour, alone and weak, unsure of whether she should continue and flicker out.

_One light for me…_

She stuck the match back into the candle's flame and drew it back to the letter. Instead, unbidden, another candle sprung alight as her match brushed over it. Meg frowned at it. This candle brutally reminded her of Julianne's fate. She had not meant for the young woman to be dragged into this loop. She had merely wanted the girl to experience some of the magic that she herself had experienced in her childhood. To live in the Opera without the fear that had dominated the last few month of Christine's life here. Also perhaps to experience the magic that she and Meg had felt in the beginning. The woman sighed deeply and touched her chest, trying to sooth out the ache of loneliness. _What would've happened if Raoul had never come to the Opera? Where would they be if it had not been for his fateful appearance? _

The answer was simple and blunt. She would never have had Julianne.  
Meg swallowed painfully and angrily rubbed at her eyes as they misted up with unannounced tears. With Ann LeRoux here, her life had not felt as empty in these past few months, despite the secrets they kept from each other, despite the constant fear that she felt for the girl's safety. It had felt to her as if Julianne had experienced true happiness for the first time in her life, a happiness that wasn't _given_ to her but one she had created herself.  
Meg picked up the letter and turned it over in her hands, looking at the two candles. Slowly, feeling as if her heart was being torn from her chest, she came to the realization that she could not burn this letter. It was so different from the others, devoid of anger or praise or even threats.  
It was a letter that spoke of the happiness that she had wished for Julianne and also, of forgiveness. Meg closed her eyes and stood up, turning her back on the candles.  
She had no choice, she realized. Her mother was right; she would have to go to the roof…

&

It was already dark when the de Changy family's coach finally pulled up in front of manor's steps.

Monsieur François Jacques Mackenzie watched as the Victomte Raoul de Changy climbed out and turned around to carefully guide his blind daughter down the two steps. His wife, a timid creature in François eyes, came last and immediately took her husband's place at the blind child's side. The married couple stared at each other in what could only be desperate anger and finally turned towards him. _Do they know?_ He wondered as he watched them slowly come up the stairs. _Has the man finally come clean with his family?_ Vicomtese de Changy kept a light hand on her daughter's arm as the young Julianne carefully moved forward, using her cane to judge the stairs' height before she actually took a step. Her father was a step behind her, his arm slightly extended behind her back without actually touching her.  
On a good day they made a hansom family, despite the young Julianne's disability. At the odd social occasion, people would still bring up the daring tale of how Raoul had gone down into the depths of the Opera to rescue the lovely Christine from a disfigured madman.

_The Phantom of the Opera._

For himself, François wasn't sure how much fabrication there was to the tale. The de Changys have never mentioned it in his company directly and, although they smiled and jested with those who did bring it up, they never truly confirmed or denied any of it. He had heard the whispers of a ghost that haunted the Paris Opera house and he had even heard that _that_ ghost still haunted or _protected_ the de Changy family. The last, he knew, was a farce. If there was truly someone out there who protected the family, he would've met the person a long time ago.  
He smiled at the thought and quickly adjusted his features so that his smile conveyed polite warmth as they took the last set of steps. Vicomte Raoul's expression was, as always; ever cautious when he regarded him but the Vicomtesses' face was one of pure disgust. It lasted only for a second though before she smiled and nodded at him politely. Julianne's was the only face to show no emotion other than concentration. Long ago the family had warned him that she took time to adjust to any new surroundings. He refrained from snorting and rather gave them a brief bow. _If she wasn't such a beautiful young woman he would never have bothered…_

"Vicomte, Vicomtesse…" His voice held only politest welcome when he straightened and fixed his gaze on Julianne as she turned her head to him. "Please, let me welcome you to my home. You must be exhausted from your journey. Julianne," his tone changed ever so slightly so that his welcome could hold more warmth. "It is wonderful to see you again." He took her hand and kissed it lightly. "I have been looking forward to the day that I can entertain you in my home."

She had jerked startled, when he touched her without warning, but quickly recovered her pose and smiled politely as she looked up. Her eyes never met his face though as they wandered around in the vicinity of his chin.  
"I… As have I Monsieur Mackenzie," she said with just the right amount of warmth. "I'm sure…" she faltered. "Our stay will be pleasant."

He smiled slightly and took his place at her side. Without asking for permission he removed the dark cane from her hands and rather placed her hands on his arm. "Please," he said with his back to her parents. "Let's go inside. My housekeeper has prepared a meal for us, though I fear it has since lost some of its grandeur. I did not expect you to come so late." The last was directed towards Raoul. Although he could not see the man, he could feel him flinch.  
"We were delayed on the road," Christine piped in. "Your estates are quite far out of Paris Monsieur. Very inaccessible."

François glanced back to her when he led them into the entrance hall of his manor. "I like my privacy," he said smoothly. "Something I believe you will appreciate Vicomtese de Changy. My manor is to me like your rose garden is to you I believe. A fortress. A place of seclusion. Though, if you fear that it might prove to be a hazard to your daughter in case of an _accident_, I can assure you that help is never far away."  
There was nothing she could say to that and by the doubtful look in her eyes he could tell that she was debating whether it was a hidden threat or merely a casual statement. François smiled at her and idly took Julianne's one hand from his arm to kiss it lightly. She didn't respond, but leaned in to him ever so slightly when the servants came closer to take the de Changy's coats and cloaks. When his personal valet tried to take Julianne's cane from his hands he bid the man to wait and looked closely at the dark wood.  
"This is a beautiful cane of yours Julianne," he said smoothly as he held it up to the light – giving him a better look of the design on the handle. "Though, hardly fitting for a young lady of your finesse. It is a man's cane my dear. Did you know?"

Julianne's hand twitched in his but her face remained very placid. "My old one broke Monsieur," she said and opened her other hand, inviting him to give her cane back to her, "this was a gift. As you can understand, I've never seen it. But, it is dear to me. Please, may I have it back?"  
Out of the corner of his eye he saw her parents shift ever so slightly as they watched his reaction. He smiled and gave the cane to his valet, motioning it over to the stand next to the coat rack. "François please, Julianne," he said with a smile. "Such formality is not suitable for a betrothed couple. This cane does not befit your beauty my dear. I will have another brought for you."

She actually pulled away from him and stood there frozen in the middle of the entrance hall. But, she knew as well as he did that she had no where to go. One look from him to her father made the man take a hold of his wife's arm to keep her from joining her daughter. Christine's face was livid but Raoul managed to control his wife and keep her from saying anything.  
Julianne blinked, twisting her head from side to side as she listened intently. Finally, she seemed to sag inside herself and step closer to him. "Of course M… _François_. Of course. It will be a dear gift as well."

Smiling to himself he took her hand again and looked back to her parents who were still staring at him darkly. "Let's go to the dining hall for some refreshments. There are a few things that we need to discuss…"

&

The man who called himself Monsieur Erik stood in the middle of the empty room, looking around him with hollow eyes, his own words echoing through his mind.  
_What have I done?_  
The room, in comparison to the other apartments in the dormitories, had always held very few personal effects. Yet, it was perhaps that absence of clutter that had allowed the room to soak up the presence of its occupant. He had known the moment he walked into the room that Ann was gone. Touching his chest to try and sooth out the pain he felt, he walked over to the dresser and opened the drawers - only to be met by an emptiness that echoed through his heart.  
_What have I done?_  
In his minds eye he could still see her on the roof, her gaze shattered as she stared at his back. _"You won't understand Ann because you cannot see…"_ She had come to search him out twice today, she had clearly needed him and not only had he turned her away but he had done it with the words that the rest of the world would've used. He was no better than the people he despised. He let out a sharp breath, looking up into the mirror perched on the dresser. The mask seemed impossibly bright in the darkness of the room and unbidden he found his hands reaching up to cover it.  
How could he have let himself become sidetracked by Raoul's appearance? He had gone to Mackenzie's office to find out what influence the man had over Ann. She had clearly been distressed the past few days. If he had only _listened_ then she might've told him and now…

He took off the mask and stared at it. He was nothing but a mask to her and now, because he could not let go of the past, she was going to become nothing but a name to him. _He should ask Madam Giry…_ But he couldn't. She's left him as well and he doubted whether Meg Giry would help him.

Cursing softly, feeling a slow helpless anger build up inside him, he put his mask back on his face and left the room.

&

The roof was empty and strangely, Meg couldn't decide whether she was disappointed or relieved. Sighing softly, she walked to the railing and looked out over Paris, watching the lights of the city. She had brought a lamp with her to make her trip up easier and even that had proven to be a challenge in the dark Opera. She shuddered to think that Julianne must've made the trip countless times. She could still hear her voice in her mind; still feel herself numbly writing the young woman's words.  
_You not only showed me the city, but how to live without fear of prejudice. Your acceptance of my disability in the beginning and the way you treated me almost callously strengthened me to the real world. And, thank you for all the times we spend on the roof. Where at first I found myself accompanying you to listen to the stories you read, I later found myself rather going to be with you. The books became the excuse, not the reason._ _You took away the loneliness that might've driven me from the Opera, had it been allowed to fester on its own._

Julianne had dictated the letter in a strained voice, constantly trying to stem her flow of tears. She had begged Meg not to ask any questions, but rather just to write as quickly as she could in the little time that they had. When they were finished, there had been no time left for her to explain how she had come by this strange relationship with the man Meg knew only as the Phantom of the Opera.  
_How could a monster mean so much to her?_ Meg wondered as she leaned against the railing. _Could it truly be the same man?_

She drew out the letter and looked at her writing, wondering whether the Phantom's absence was a sign that she should just let matters be. She had promised Julianne that she would take it to the roof; technically she had fulfilled her end of the bargain. There was nothing she could do about it if her _Monsieur Erik_ was not around.

Carefully, Meg let her one hand relax on the letter and watched it flutter and pull in the breeze. It would end everything if she just let it go…

But, like the letter in her fingers, duty tugged at her heart. Her mother had given up her whole life to serve this man because of her. Meg felt that she could not be blamed for her mother's decisions nor could she be held accountable for something she couldn't even remember. But it didn't change the fact that she was the catalyst right at the heart of everything. If she had wanted to stop this, she should never have brought Julianne to the Opera yet, she had made that choice and now – she has to live with the consequences of it. And, the young woman had been truly happy here. Meg could still not understand why she had such a sudden change of heart. She had been quite determined to stay at the Opera before she spoke to her parents and Meg couldn't believe that she would change her mind so completely without some sort of negotiation. Julianne was stronger than that, or rather – she had become stronger than that in her time at the Opera. Meg grasped the letter with two hands and frowned at it, remembering another phrase.  
_I apologize for not being able to be the support to you today as you have been to me. I can only wish that with age my understanding of the world will grow._

Today.

Meg wondered abruptly if she had gone to see the Phantom in the time that she had left them. _Had he been the one to upset her so?_  
Frowning, Meg shoved the letter back into her pocket and turned around, allowing her eyes to travel to all the darkest corners. "Are you here?" she queried suddenly. "Monsieur Erik? Are you here watching me?"  
She allowed her senses to spread, that age old instinct that she always associated with feeling the Phantom of the Opera but it came up short. She was not being watched. Meg sniffed, her mouth thin with growing suspicion. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that Julianne wouldn't just quietly bend to her parents wishes, especially if she had been as content to be here as she said.  
_There was more to this,_ she thought and picked up the lamp.

Monsieur Erik might dwell on the roof, but Meg knew exactly where to find the Phantom of the Opera.

&

Lying in the unfamiliar bed, overwhelmed by its alien smell and foreign texture, Julianne kept her hand tightly pressed against her face. After dinner she had been all but _ordered_ to bed, her fiancé's words disguised with the insistence that she must be tired after her long day. She had scarcely been allowed to say good night to her parents before she was led away through a series of corridors then up an uncountable amount of stairs. She had struggled to navigate them and stumbled no less than three times only to be caught by silent, anonymous hands. Those same hands had undressed her after the person, an elderly woman by the sound of it, declared that they were at her room, with the same courtesy as one would speak and touch an invalid. It was only when the rough handed woman had physically tucked her into bed and left her on her own, that the full force of her predicament hit her so hard that she started crying uncontrollably. All the days' events washed over her, from the early note her Aunt Meg had received from her parents to their arrival at the Opera. She had thought that she would be able to talk her way out of her engagement before she saw them, as she had _hoped_ that nothing would have to change. But her world had crashed in on itself when she realized that at the heart of it, even Monsieur Erik saw her only as a blind woman. A part of her knew that she was over reacting. He had been upset, she could clearly sense it and perhaps, if she had only persisted and tried to _listen_ to him, as he had always listened to her, then maybe he would not have reacted the way he did.  
Yet, there had been no time today and now she knew that she would never have the time again. Things have been spiralling downwards ever since she had returned from the roof, from their hasty departure from the Opera to Monsieur Mackenzie taking away her cane. Although they never spoke about it, Julianne had become sure that Monsieur Erik had left it for her in her room. Why, she never got the chance to ask him. He had been her guide, her doctor, her friend and later her teacher, and suddenly the thought of parting with him with only a letter hurt more than she had ever imagined it would.

_She should've stayed…_  
But she couldn't. On top of the duty she felt towards saving her family from financial ruin, she had come to realize that life was not a play or a performance. Ann LeRoux had been a fabrication who lived a lie, and if she were to stay at the Opera she would have to come clean to everybody and tell them her true heritage. In doing that, she might just destroy every friendship that she had there.  
A part of Julianne was also very stubborn and wanted keep Ann alive, to have people remember her without associating her with her parents. In leaving as quietly as she did, she kept that part of herself whole – untouched by Monsieur François Mackenzie.

Her heart ached at the thought of him, a cold physical reminder that life was changing beyond her comprehension. He had announced it at dinner.

"Tomorrow," he had said, "I'm going to send Julianne to live with my mother in Scotland. I have been thinking about this little venture of hers and have decided that it is not such a detrimental act after all. It's good for Julianne to experience a little bit more of the world before we get married. My mother intends to move to Paris soon, so it's good to utilize this opportunity now."

Her parents had protested politely, saying that she had not been home in some time and that they would rather that she came back with them but Monsieur Mackenzie had been politely insistent. "All the arrangements have already been made," he said. "Besides, what's a few more weeks? Weeks that she would most certainly have spent in Paris had I not alerted you to your daughter's location?"

It had quickly dawned on Julianne that he was not sending her away for her sake but rather as punishment to her parents for not telling them that she had run away. Perhaps even punishment for herself. She was beginning to feel increasingly ashamed of her actions the more people avoided reprimanding her directly.

Sighing deeply, rubbing away the last of her tears, Julianne turned on her back and tried to judge the width of the bed by spreading her arms around her. She had not been ready to go to sleep and, now that her shock was slowly settling, she felt a quiet anger build inside her. _How dare the staff treat her that way? How dare they? She wasn't a horse they could just put in for the night! How dare they? _

Finding the edge of the bed with her fingers, she pushed herself up and turned in that direction. She felt terribly exposed without her cane but she wanted to get up despite not being given the chance to explore her room. Inching off of the bed, Julianne carefully moved until her feet touched the floor. Instinctively she bent to pick up her cane, but stopped herself short of looking around the floor for it. Sniffing in an effort to ignore the pang in her chest she stood up and carefully walked to the closest wall, barely lifting her feet in fear of getting caught on something, and keeping her arms well spread in front of her. She hit what felt like a chest at first but upon further exploration she discovered that she had found a bay window with a build out sill where she could sit. Without hesitating, Julianne carefully climbed on it and positioned herself so that she could be against the window without leaning her weight against it. Letting out a slow breath, she closed her eyes and hugged her knees to her chest.  
It was going to be a long night.

&

To Be Continued…


	27. 26 The Lesser Darkness

**Chapter 26: The Lesser Darkness… **

Lamp in hand, Meg Giry found herself standing in front of the mini organ for the second time since Julianne had arrived at the Opera Populaire. She looked at it, feeling strangely calm and undaunted by its alien beauty. So much have changed since that first time she came down here, racing in front of a murderous crowd in an attempt to find her best friend and her lover. She still didn't understand exactly what she had hoped to accomplish then for; she would surely not have been able to fight off the Phantom if he had harmed Raoul or Christine. None the less, she had known then as she knew now that she had come to expose a monster and ended up finding something completely different. A mask, a murderous mob, a cape and her mother watching from the shadows.  
_Had that day been symbolic?_ Meg thought quietly as she ran her fingers over the gold frame work of the organ. _Had she already stepped into the shadows alongside her mother on that fateful day?_ They had watched the mob together as they tore down the place, burning everything that wasn't of value and stealing that which was. Manuscripts, Persian robes, a figure of a monkey sitting in top of a barrel organ… To this day, she knew that it was a miracle that nobody dared touch the organ. It alone had stood withstood the tirade.  
If she had been the girl she was, Meg would've said that the organ was the soul of the Phantom and perhaps, because it still stood, it allowed the man to remain here in the dark, his presence untouched by time. When she had come down here to confirm to herself that the Phantom was gone and Julianne safe she had looked at the world through those same naïve eyes, believing that if the organ had been untouched then surely the man must be gone as well. Julianne, she had assured herself, was safe. Protected.  
Meg snorted at her foolishness, the sound echoing through the empty cavern. How blind _she_ had been, for Julianne had not been safe even before she came to the Opera. The girl in her had believed that she could change everything for the better yet all she had done was make things _worse_.

She moved around the organ, running her eyes over the dusty keys. She was not a girl anymore but a grown woman who had chosen solitude rather than risking the destructive path of love. She had seen it destroy her mother, mourning forever the father she never knew, she had seen it destroy her best friend – torn in two between the man of her dreams and the man of her nightmares. She had chosen to be the observer, the watcher, the protector. Now, she realized that she had chosen to become a ghost of inaction.

_Well,_ she thought as she took a deep breath, her one hand moving to touch the letter in her cloak pocket. _That would not be her fate today, not here, in this hour of darkness._ She closed her eyes and reached forward with her other hand. Closing her eyes, not needing to look where she touched, Meg reached out and hit a single note on the organ…

&&&

The sun had not yet risen above the horizon when Christine carefully made her way down the deserted hallway. Wearing only her dressing gown, she felt exposed and anxious at being discovered, but she had not dared dress into something more suitable lest Raoul woke up. She did not want to talk to him, could not face him in this dark hour. She had not slept at all during the night but rather found herself staring at his shape next to her, remembering their first secret night together. How she had loved him then, her body set on fire by every kiss he planted on her, her soul locked to his every time he touched her. She had thought that she would never feel as alive as she had in those precious moments which he held her. It had felt as if nothing could come between them, even with the threat of the Phantom's wrath.

_How the world changes,_ Christine thought wearily as she stopped in front of her daughter's bedroom. Now there was a cold wall between her and her husband, and the bitter bite of it was that it had been there for years. Perhaps she had known about it, she mused painfully as she rested her hand on the door, maybe she was even responsible for it…  
Christine sighed softly and rested her forehead against the cool wood. _Have I been that bad a wife?_ She thought, thinking about her husband's words. _'You were forever comparing, forever thinking of what your life would've been like if you had gone with him instead of me.'_ The words had cut through her but, as much as it pained her to admit it, there was an edge of truth to them. She _did_ wonder what her life would've been like if she had chosen to spend it with the masked ghost of the Opera Populaire. She didn't dwell on it, or tried not to, but it was there – a life just beyond reach, just out of sight.

And of course, then there was Julianne…

Her daughter, her gift, her blessing and her curse. She loved her whole family, her husband and her two darling boys but her eldest held a particularly special place in her heart. She symbolized everything in those Christine truly loved. The beauty of her father, the love for music she herself had and an imperfection, a flaw. A small reminder of the man who had made her what she was and the world of darkness _he_ dwelled in.

Sighing again, Christine carefully opened the door and stepped inside, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dark. She was surprised to notice that the room was lighter than hers had been and it took her a moment to realize that the curtains had not been drawn. Closing the door behind her, she turned to find that her daughter was sitting in the one windowsill instead of being in her bed. She frowned and walked closer.

"Julianne?" she said softly, "_ma fille_?"

The figure in the window turned, her facial expression darkened by the silhouette of the darkness outside.

"_Mere?"_

Her words were so quiet, so small that Christine felt her heart leap into her throat. Without hesitating she moved forward and wrapped her arms around her daughter. "It's me," she said. "I'm here Julie. Oh my lovely, I have missed you so much."

The young woman shivered at her touch but leaned forward with a defeated sigh and allowed her to hold her as tightly as she could. She didn't say anything and but returned her mother's touch in kind, the emotion behind it bringing quiet tears to Christine's eyes. Hugging her daughter's shoulders to her chest she kissed the young woman's cheek, running her one hand through her hair.

"Your hair's longer," she whispered softly, unable to find the right words to tell her eldest how complete she felt again with her in her arms. Julianne sighed softly and allowed her one hand to stray up to her mother's cheek, touching it gently in her exploring way. Touching a tear, she flinched and buried her head under her mother's chin.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm… so sorry about everything Mama. I should never have left home. I… I'm so sorry." There was a raw emotion in her voice that was accentuated by the fact that she didn't even have the energy to cry.

Christine closed her eyes and sighed softly. "It's alright _ma cheri_," she said softly. "You… please do not apologize. My darling, you were happy there. Please, do not apologize. I'm sorry for failing you. If I had known about your father's… about our debt, I would never have… My dear, I do not want to sell you for absolution. I do not."

Julianne sighed softly, a depressing amount of defeat in her voice. "There is nothing that we can do," she said softly. "Nothing you can say now. It's not your fault."

Her words were sincere, but they didn't make Christine feel better. Instead, she swallowed painfully and hugged her daughter, guilt eating at her heart.

"I wish I could change this for you, if your father had just…"

Julianne stopped her words by a tight squeeze in her side. "Do not blame papa," she said softly. "If it wasn't François Mackenzie, it would've been another gentleman like him. There is no life for me outside the security of marriage." She sighed softly. "My marriage might as well mean something."  
Christine bit back her anger and sighed softly, rubbing her daughter's back. "You're cold," she said after a while. "Have you been sitting here all night?" Her answer came in the form of a bitter laugh as Julianne nodded her head.  
"I don't even know what the time is here," she admitted dryly. "At the Opera…" Her voice tightened and she fell silent but unbidden, Christine completed her sentence.  
"You can tell what the time is just by listening," she said with an ache in her heart. "I know. The place had its own rhythm…"

Julianne sniffed softly and pushed herself away from her mother's tight embrace. She didn't bring up her face, but her hand strayed to her mother's cheek – trying to read the emotions there.  
"Why did you hate it there?" she asked softly, her voice hoarse and intense. "I have never been as happy anywhere as I have been there this past time. What made it so awful that you never wanted me to go there?"

The boldness of the question startled Christine and she had to sit back, away from her daughter. Taking Julianne's hand from her cheek she sighed softly and shook her head. "I didn't hate it there," she said carefully. "It's… because of things that happened a long time ago _ma cheri_. The reasons do not matter anymore."

Julianne pulled her hand away from Christine's with a fierceness the woman didn't associate with her daughter. "It does!" she said sharply. "I lived there, walked in those walls. I have met… the most amazing people. And singing… Mother. I have found a kind of music there that you could never show me, even if I suspect that you have been preparing me for it my whole life! The place is alive, living. Magical. I cannot understand why you and father feel such horror within those walls!"

Frowning, Christine folded her arms, trying to find a way to deal with the anger she sensed in her child. She was unconsciously reminded of Julianne as a feral toddler, locked away from the world by the darkness she carried with her.  
"Because you love it there," Christine started carefully, "I do not wish to spoil your memories. It's in the past Julianne."

The young woman snorted and made to stand up, unconsciously bending to pick up a cane that wasn't there. When her hand touched carpet and nothing else she flinched and sat back slowly, pressing herself against the wall behind her.

"If it doesn't matter," she said softly, her words cold and forced. "If it was just in the past, then you and father would've brought us all to Paris a long time ago. Then you wouldn't have been so angry with Aunt Meg for bringing me here, or so scared to come and find me." Her sightless eyes blazed with a cold fury. "I am not a naïve child anymore, disillusioned by stories. I have walked in the Opera, have heard the whispers of Christine, Raoul and the Opera Ghost. I suspect that most of what I've heard is twenty years worth of gossip but _something_ happened there between you and papa. Tell me."  
Christine drew away from her daughter, still trying to waylay her questions. "Julianne, we do not have time…"  
The young woman's blue eyes shot up and with their uncanny accuracy met her mother's gaze. "Now is the only time that we have," she whispered fiercely. "In a few hours, after breakfast, you and father will leave for our estates. This evening, I leave for Scotland to stay with a woman I've never met. Now is the only time we have mother. Tell me. Please."

&&&

It was only when light returned to the world that he went back to the darkness that was his home. The man in the mask touched the cold, damp wall that lead to the cavern he lived in. As the business man, Monsieur Erik, he had no need to be there. He had one or two apartments in Paris along with the properties that he had in Spain and, professionally, he has always had more than enough reason to never return to the Opera House. But, it was home. It had always been home and he had thought that it would always feel like home. Yet now, with the darkness inside his soul, it felt to him as empty as Ann's room.

_What is the source of these emotions?_ He wondered numbly as he slowly descended down the path. _Is it possible for a second person to have such a deep effect on him?_ _Such a change?_

After seeing Ann's empty room, he had gone back to the offices of François Mackenzie to find out what hold the man had on the LeRoux family. In an exercise of self control he had refrained from seeing why Raoul would've been there. Irrationally, he felt angry with the de Chagny's for Ann's sudden departure. Although he knew that they were not to blame, he couldn't help but feel that if he had not seen Raoul, he would've been in the right frame of mind to listen and help Ann. Because he had not found anything on Ann or any LeRoux family, he was very scared that he might never know what happened to her.  
The thought made him angry and something that made him even angrier was the realization that he had not felt like this ever since Ann came into his life. She had changed him slowly, deeply and unconditionally. Her friendship had had no demands, her company no price. He had never been with anyone who was merely just content to be with him. His mask, his face and his history had had no place in their friendship.

Sighing softly, he descended deeper into the darkness, his memories taking him to that fateful day the young blind chorus girl saved his life on the railings. He had known that she had something different to her then, a fearless determination that would not see him fall to his death. She had saved his life as surely as he had saved hers that day in the alley.

_What has happened to her? _

He paused suddenly, goosebumps travelling up his arms. Looking up around him, he frowned and tried to determine what it was that had caught his attention. The darkness was different, the silence had an echo. Frowning, he moved forward more quickly until he could place the sound. Shock, then relief vibrated through him when he realized that the sound he was hearing was a long, single note from the organ.  
_Ann,_ he thought. _She must be down here. Only she would dare come here… Ann._

Any irritation or anger that he might've felt at the idea of someone touching the organ vanished as he started running. Perhaps he had not driven her away…

&&&

Her mother had stood up to pace the length of the room. Julianne listened to her progress, still sitting at her place by the window. Her mother had draped a blanket over her shoulders, but she had allowed it to slip away from her, hating its foreign smell and texture.  
"I loved the Opera," Christine said suddenly, randomly as if she was grabbing at a thread in a tapestry. "It was the only home I really knew. When your grandfather died…" she sighed softly. "That all's irrelevant really." There was a rustle as she sat down on the bed, then abruptly her pacing started again. "I met a man at the Opera, someone whom I had thought was my protector… My angel of music. I was lonely when I came there, and he became a voice in the darkness. Someone who soothed me in my loneliest hours. Later on, he became my teacher, my master. He taught me to sing, as I have taught you, but his lessons came at a price. He wanted my full… loyalty. I was to be his and his alone. When your father arrived…" Her mother sighed softly and sat down again. "Things started happening. Two people died and, in one terrifying night, I was forced to choose between your father and this man who called himself the Opera Ghost. The Phantom of the Opera."

Julianne frowned and tried to still her confusion. "This can't be true," she whispered. "I have heard this tale told and retold among the girls. I had not thought that it was real. Ghosts do not exist."

Christine sighed and sat down on the bed again. "He was not a ghost Julianne, but a man of flesh and blood. Filled with passion and lust, love and hate. It's because of him that your father and I never returned there, he had told us as much. Your father felt that we had escaped with our lives once but that we should not tempt fate again."

Still confused, with her mind reeling over the strange parallels between her mother's story and hers, Julianne stood up slowly and started to walk to where she had heard her mother was, before she reached the bed she felt her mother's hand in hers and allowed the woman to guide her over to the bed.  
"What did he want from you?" she asked puzzled.

She felt an overwhelming wave of sadness wash over her mother. "To sing," she replied softly. "To be _his_ Angel of Music. To sing _his_ work. Maybe for me to love him, certainly for me to be with him forever. He wanted me to be the Prima Donna of the Opera."

Julianne raised an eyebrow and twisted her head in her mother's direction. "And were you?"

The woman laughed bitterly. "Twice," she said. "Once in the most magical performance of my life, the next time in the last and most terrifying. He was a madman Julie."  
Julianne swallowed and shook her head, trying to clear it and still her emotions. "Why?" she queried. "What made him so?"

Again, her mother's hand strayed to her hair. "Me," she replied quietly. "The world. Everybody and nobody. You see Julianne… He had a… flaw. Like you. You would not understand it because people's physical attributes have no meaning to you, but – people saw him as imperfect and I believe that that drove him mad."

The young woman sat very still. "And was he imperfect?"

Christine shook her head, resting her hand around her daughter's shoulders. "No," she said sadly, "but it took me a while to realize it. He was gifted Julianne and different. Those were his only flaws. But you know better than I do that humanity is cruel and people merciless when it comes to imperfection. Your father and I tried to shield you from it… Protect you from the world. That's also partly why we never came to the Opera or Paris. Back home, in the safely of our own estates, we were able to protect you from the people who knew our history's judging eyes."

Julianne stood up suddenly without warning her mother. "Why?" she snapped. "Because my _imperfection_ is similar to this man's in your history?" Her breath suddenly caught in her throat. "You spoke of passion and lust… is he my father?!"

Her mother stood up very quickly and touched her elbow. "No Julianne," she said in a low voice. "No, Raoul is your father. I never slept with that man, our relationship wasn't like that. Yes, people might've thought that if they saw you but… You are a full de Changy."

Julianne sniffed sharply and pulled away from her mother's touch. Reaching out with her hand, she moved to the wall and leaned against it. "Does _that_ man have a name?" she queried blankly. The sadness that she had felt from her mother changed to shame.  
"I never asked him," she said. "He was just Master to me."

Julianne frowned and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "And Aunt Meg?" she queried. "What does she know? Does she know this man?"

Christine sighed softly and shrugged. "Not that I know of," she said heavily. "Her mother did. Meg… I don't know. I don't know how much she knew and how much she didn't."  
An awkward silence reigned the room until Julianne sighed softly and shook her head. "Why didn't you tell me?" she queried. "Mother, this is not… This tale is not that extraordinary. Why didn't you and papa just tell us? Why the secrecy?"

Her mother was silent for a very long time. Finally, the woman sighed softly and shook her head. "I don't know," she translated the gesture for her daughter's convenience. "Probably because your father and I have never spoken of it again. It was not… it had no place in our lives."

Julianne snorted and shook her head. "I think you're wrong," she said angrily. "I think it ruled your lives…"

&&&

Standing in the dark, with only her weak lamp beside her, Meg lost all track of time. She didn't know how long she had been standing there, holding the single note on the mini organ. She knew that she was cold and angry and scared. Her fear was a strange one, a combination of wild ideas and deep felt emotions. She was scared of the Phantom of the Opera, in a way she always has been. Scared of what she didn't understand, scared because he had always been a force beyond her comprehension. Mixed in with that, she was scared for Julianne and even Christine. She still loved the woman, despite the fact that they had become increasingly distant towards each other. A part of her was even scared for her mother's sake. With only the sound of the organ as her companion, she had had a lot of time to think and couldn't help but wonder what would happen now that her mother didn't feel the need to serve this monster she was calling. The woman was ill and, illogically, she was scared that it had only been her duty to the Phantom that had kept her mother alive.  
_What's going to happen to us all?_

She sighed softly and rubbed at her tired eyes, knowing that her world was never going to be the same again. It was in that moment, that a sense touched her heart. It was a familiar, knowing sensation that made her look up sharply, just in time to see a dark figure enter the room.  
_He's here, the Phantom of the Opera._  
They looked at each other over the dark expanse between them. In the dimness of her lamp, she could first register shock and surprise on his ghostly features. Her own shock seemed to echo his. He had not aged as she had thought he would, even if she could see that time touched him. _Is it because of your disfigurement?_ She wondered numbly. _Has nature decided to be kind to you at last?_  
His shock and surprise quickly moved to anger. Meg registered a second too late that he was moving towards her. Abruptly she took her hand from the organ and tried to move away, but he had crossed the distance between them with an inhuman speed and, even before she could move away, he grabbed her by the collar of her clothes and picked her up as if he intended to hurl her across the room. The anger in his eyes was immeasurable as he shoved her against the nearest wall, his fists digging into her chest and throat.  
Her first instinct was to struggle against him and she clawed at his wrists and hands but he was an immovable force with menace vibrating from the mask. Coughing, struggling to breathe Meg fought against the panic inside her – finding a suitable weapon in her own anger.  
"Do it," she hissed. "Hurt me. Kill me. _Prove me right about you."_

She could see the urge, the _need_ in him to hurt her but instead of fearing his action Meg found herself quietly waiting for him, her eyes locked with his. For a second she felt the pressure against her chess increase then, with an almost feral growl he let go of her and stepped away, causing her to fall to her feet in a very unceremonious heap.

"_What are you doing here?"_  
Every word vibrated with the anger she sensed inside him, but Meg was ready for it as she pushed herself up, surprised by the depth of her own anger when she all but shouted.  
"You ruined everything!"

The Phantom of the Opera blinked at her words then, with his eyes like smouldering embers, turned away from her. _"Get out,"_ he hissed and started walking away slowly. "Get out of here this is my home. You have no right to accuse me of anything in my home."

Meg snorted as she found her feet. "You're home?" she snapped. "This is mine as well! All of it, here. On stage. In the dorms. You're home is my home you… you…" She just managed to keep herself from calling him a monster. "Don't you dare to try and be self righteous with me, _you_ have no right."  
He paused and turned slightly as if to look at her without turning around completely. "What do you want here Little Meg?"

His anger had vanished and in its place a strange, quiet defeat. Groping for the letter, Meg shook her head. "I don't know," she admitted, not sure how to respond to him now that he wasn't angry or threatening her. "I have no reason to be here. I did not make my mother's promise! She had no right to promise me to you, to tie me to your life." As the Phantom turned completely Meg realized suddenly that her initial assessment had been incorrect because he too had aged. It was less defined than it should've been, but time's touch was in the lines behind his eyes and the sadness in his gaze.  
"Then why are you here?"

Grinding her teeth, clenching the letter in her fist Meg took a step towards him and held out her hand. "I'm not doing this for you," she growled as he frowned at the letter. "I'm not doing this for me, or for my mother or for anybody else in our shared past. I am doing this because I believe that someone I love needs your help. And she asked me to give this to you."

At first, he looked at her puzzled but then slowly, comprehension dawned and without warning he stepped forward and snatched the letter. Meg stepped back and crossed her arms as she watched him scan the content. His face grew darker and darker as his clear eyes ran over the page. When they looked at her again the force behind them was like a blow.  
_"Where is she?" _

The question gave Meg a strange feeling of power. "She didn't want to tell you," she pointed out. "So forgive me if I say that she only wanted me to deliver the letter, not blab her secrets." She sighed shook her head. "But, I have come here, as you say, and now I must carry on. Ann LeRoux has gone to François Mackenzie's estates. She came to the Opera to hide from her family and her engagement to the man. I also brought her here to sing. To live. Things that I seemed to have failed to teach her, but you…"

Her words had clearly shocked the man as he blinked and shook his head. "Mackenzie would not marry someone like Ann," he said sharply. "I know of the man, even if I have not met him. He would not associate with someone like Ann. The LeRoux name means nothing. Why her?"

Meg frowned at the Ghost from her past, wondering about his perplexity. In her time in the dark as she waited for him to appear, she had wondered about his relationship with Julianne, and had wondered whether he associated with the young woman because he knew that she was Christine's daughter or because she reminded him of her. She could believe that someone who had been so infatuated with Christine would not recognize her offspring. None the less…

"Her family owes him a great financial debt," she started but was cut off by the sharp shake of his head. "I have gone to Mackenzie's offices," he said harshly, waving the letter at her. "I have searched for their names, trying to find out what debt they owed the man or what hold he had over Ann. Their name was not there."

She was startled by the trouble that he had gone through. Frowning, Meg Giry studied the man before her, wondering how much he had changed these past few years. She was unable to forgive him for the way he had caused the end of her innocence and childhood but… _Perhaps he was just a man.  
_"It was not the LeRoux name that you should've been looking for," she said quietly and shifted her balance so that she could move out of his way in case he lunged at her again. "Can you not see the truth Monsieur? Ann said in her letter: _Ann LeRoux will be forgotten, will cease to be after today, but I beg you to remember her… _Ann LeRoux does not exist._" _

The news didn't surprise him; rather it seemed to be a conformation of his own suspicions. His eyes grew darker when they touched hers and his voice lowered.  
"Who is she?"

Meg's mouth went dry suddenly yet she found herself looking deeply into his eyes, trying to see into the soul of the person who had weighed so heavily on her mind all these years. "Do you not know Monsieur?" she asked with a touch of disbelief. "Do you truly not know?"

He didn't answer her, but shook his head so slightly that it only manifested as a changing of shadow over the bone white mask. Meg watched him, feeling strangely sad. If he didn't know, he had cared for Ann as she was, not for _who_ she was. To tell him this… Surprised by her own compassion she shook her head.

"I'm telling you this Monsieur," she said softly. "Because I believe that you can save Ann LeRoux. Perhaps because through this, you can fix what you destroyed so many years ago. We all have to pay our dues…" She looked up into his eyes, the eyes of a monster and a man. "Ann LeRoux is the daughter of Christine Daae."

&&&

_To Be Continued… _


	28. 27 To Become a Ghost

**Chapter 27: To Become a Ghost… **

The letter read:

_Dear Monsieur Erik,  
I beg your forgiveness for I have broken one of the cardinal rules. Due to my lack of time, I could not give you this message personally. So, I had to let my aunt know about you for she has to write this letter for me. I realise that I am breaking a promise but believe me Monsieur, I have no choice.  
I do not know where to start or what to tell you, so I will be brief. I ran away from home several weeks ago. My aunt is a family friend and she organised this place in the Opera for me. Now my family is here and I suspect that they will never allow me to come back. I tried to come and say farewell, but you were upset. This letter will have to do._

_Monsieur, thank you for everything that you have done for me. I cannot say this enough. __You not only showed me the city, but how to live without fear of prejudice. Your acceptance of my disability in the beginning and the way you treated me almost callously strengthened me to the real world. And, thank you for all the times we spend on the roof. Where at first I found myself accompanying you to listen to the stories you read, I later found myself rather going to be with you. The books became the excuse, not the reason. You took away the loneliness that might have driven me from the Opera, had it been allowed to fester on its own._

_My time is short and I have to start finishing this. _

_Monsieur, I have not been truthful to you, for I am not all that I pretended to be. It shames me that I have lied to you for so long. Part of me wishes to tell you the truth now, but another side of me wishes to keep things the way they were. Ann LeRoux will be forgotten, will cease to be after today, but I beg you to remember her. _

_Carry her with you always, as I will carry you.  
Ann. _

He had fallen to the floor and he couldn't remember how he got there. Looking up at Meg Giry, her words ringing through his head, all he could say was.  
"No."  
Meg looked at him, her eyes compassionate for the first time. "You really didn't know," she whispered softly and hunched down. "You really didn't know." Hesitantly she reached out to try and touch him but he slapped her hand away and stood up, his world spinning around him.  
"Don't touch me!" he yelled. "Don't!"

Meg flinched away from him and retreated to a safe distance, clutching her wrist more from shock than pain. He could feel her caution as she watched him but he didn't care. With his thoughts in turmoil, he started pacing, pulling his hands in and out of his hair. It was still a wig of course. The little hair that he had had, had all but disappeared. He suddenly felt very, very old.

The younger woman watched him, her eyes following every movement of his. She wanted to flee, he could feel that, but the duty that she refused to acknowledge held her captive. "Monsieur," she tried. "Monsieur, please… I'm sorry."

He rounded on her, the two words cutting through his soul. "Sorry?" he spat. "Sorry?! How dare you? How dare you bring _her_ here after I did everything I could to make sure that she would never return?! And her daughter…" He could not keep the look of agony from crossing his features. "Oh Ann," he whispered, moaning. "Ann…" He started pacing again, his steps as sharp as the movements in his hands. _"Christine…"_

She sniffed sharply suddenly and dared to take a step closer. "You ask why I brought her here Monsieur," she snapped. "Well, I'll tell you now. It's because of her, not of Christine. It's because of Julianne. My Ann. I brought her here because; despite all of her family's history, she deserved a chance of life away from the de Changy shadow. Because she deserved to find herself." Meg paused and swallowed at the tightness in her throat as she regarded him. "I brought her here because I could make a distinction between Christine and Ann and realize who was more important to me. Something I think you should do as well if you wish to be of any further help."

He glared then abruptly turned his back on her. "Why should I help her?" he spat. "Everything that she has told me is a lie and everything that we did was wrapped in it."

He heard Meg snort softly, heard her move closer to him. "Forgive me Monsieur," she said dryly. "But did you not show her much the same courtesy? Did you tell her why you live here or what you have done?"  
When he didn't answer she nodded to herself. "I think not _Monsieur Erik_," she said. "By not showing yourself to her, you kept her as much in the dark as she kept you." Her tone turned bitterer. "The only one who's been lied to here is me, and by her words, that was _your_ doing."

He turned around slowly and found that she was standing within arms reach from him, her light eyes a sharp contrast to the darkness around them. He was shocked by their intensity and, for once, the lack of hate or anger that he saw in them. Bending his head forward, so aware of the ache in his chest, he closed his eyes and shook his head.  
"What do you want from me?" he queried softly. "Please, why couldn't you just let this be?"  
He could sense the sadness that radiated from her as she shook her head, not knowing herself. "Perhaps because, as I told you, I feel that you are the only person who can change this," she said softly. "For I certainly can't."  
He tried to walk away, he really did. He took two steps back, away from her and towards the awaiting darkness of the cavern around him. But, he could not move suddenly, for in his mind he remembered the wild trips he and Ann had had down into the labyrinth so that they could have the privacy he needed to teach her how to sing for the Gala evening. She was all around him suddenly, her face drifting in his memory, her voice ringing in his years. And her smell or the way she would touch his mask or hold his hand. The way she trusted him beyond a doubt… His heart ached anew and he had to close his eyes in order to try and control his emotions. _How could he not have known?_

"Tell me again," he said softly, his voice hoarse, "what does François Mackenzie want with her?

&&&

Julianne stood on the stairs, listening to the carriage as it pulled away from the yard, her heart feeling as if it was being torn from her chest as the sound grew softer and softer. This is it, she thought as she shifted uncomfortably. _This moment was the end of the life she had come to live._ When she turned around and went back into the mansion, then Ann LeRoux and all her experiences in Paris would come to an end.

Her farewell to her parents had been a subdued one. They had not shared breakfast together, for food had been brought to their rooms separately. It had been a bother to Julianne because she wasn't shown or told where it was _nor_ had it been placed in a strategic place. In her attempt to find the tray, she had accidently knocked against the table it was on and send all its contents flying to the floor. Insecure and embarrassed, Julianne had forced herself to stand still until the maids came to collect it in fear of creating a bigger mess than she already had. The awareness of the sharp porcelain shards from what sounded like a shattered tea pot also lay heavily on her mind. The maids had been vexingly sympathetic and before she knew exactly what was happening, the rough hands from the previous evening was back to dress her. Julianne had tried to protest at the woman's insistent touch, had tried to make her understand that there were some things she liked to do for herself. Not being able to decide what she was going to wear, or having no say in how her attire was put together made her feel increasingly helpless. Her requests and explanations had fallen on deaf ears. The promised cane was also not delivered, effectively forcing Julianne to remain in her room until someone came to collect her to share a final cup of tea with her parents. Monsieur Mackenzie had been present through it all, his presence seemingly pleasant and welcoming but Julianne could sense the superiority he felt over the de Changy family. There was also, in truth, nothing that they could say to each other that would change the outcome of that day. Their inevitable good bye was tense and short, everything that they would've said to each other that might've helped drowned to silence by the overbearing shadow of Mackenzie.

Julianne sighed softly, swallowing the tight lump in her throat and turned around, carefully making her way up the stairs again. When she reached the top a hand slipped into the crook of her elbow and guided her to where she had determined the other steps were.  
"Where are you taking me?" she asked the invisible hand, but did not strain against it.  
"Back to your room Mademoiselle," a younger voice than she expected said. "Monsieur Mackenzie said that he will be with you shortly to discuss your trip."

Julianne hid her winch, but was unable to stop the sense of fear that erupted within her. She would be alone with him, here in this house where she had no allies to speak of. She might've been sheltered from the world by her parents, but Julianne knew what she had to fear from it. She sniffed and touched the unknown servant's hand.  
"Will you stay with me?" she queried, trying hard to keep the question neutral instead of making it sound like a plea. Unfortunately she sensed the young woman's surprise even before she replied.

"Of course not, Mademoiselle," the young girl said amused. "I have other duties. Do not worry; there are many things in the room that will keep you occupied. Are you excited about your trip? Myself, this is the furthest I have ever gone beyond Paris…"

&&&

He was beyond angry as he searched through François Mackenzie's office for his estate address. Flipping through the files as quickly as he could, he tried to keep his anger at bay but it was very _very_ hard.  
_How could he allow this?_ The Phantom thought as he put a file back in its place and switched to the next one. _How?_  
He had hoped that Raoul would take care of Christine, that he would love and cherish her in a way that _he_ never could. It was one of the reasons he had allowed her to go back to him. When Christine had kissed him on that fateful night, now more than twenty years ago, he had been faced with the life that he could have had. Perhaps in the same way dying men claimed to see their life flash before their eyes, he had seen the potential future of his in that fated moment. As Christine kissed him, he felt himself become less of a monster and more of man. He had felt his rage against the world filter away and the rage against himself start. He had seen the way she looked at him suddenly, her fear disappearing, her eyes opening, not to his disfigurement but to his soul. He knew that she was willing to stay with him then, not to save her betrothed but for herself. In that one moment, she belonged to him again as she had belonged to him before Raoul came. She was willing to spend her life with him and he couldn't face it. Being a monster was easier than being a man.  
He had to take a deep breath as his heart contracted painfully in his chest, his emotions almost getting the better of him. What would he have done with Christine if he had kept her? There were only so many songs that they could sing together, only so much music that can be written. The dream would've ended eventually, he had realized, and then they would've been two people facing each other outside the world he had tried to create. Even though he had loved her more in that moment than he ever dreamed he would be able to, he had to let her go because Raoul could offer her _so much more_.

Yet, he didn't – the Phantom thought as he finally found what he was looking for. By the sound of it, Raoul had squandered his inherited wealth and had put his family in danger. The Phantom could not allow it, _he could not_. He had not given Christine up only to have her daughter sold as a debt's payment. _He could not loose Ann the way he had lost Christine. _He had let Christine go; he had not fought for her. He could not, after everything that he had done. But, he had done no such things in Ann's presence; he had done her no injustice. He could fight for her, no matter whose daughter she was.

When he had been in the office the previous night, he vowed that he would find her family's link to Mackenzie and sever it so that she could live free of his torment. Despite the bitterness of the masquerade they had held for each other, that wish did not change. He would protect her as he did that day in the alley.  
He owed her that much for giving him the shreds of happiness that he had felt in her company.

&&&

The sun did not warm her.

Sitting on the steps of the Opera Populaire, Meg leaned forward and hugged her knees. She had followed the Phantom out to the stables when he left his underground lair and had gone with him to the stables where he tacked up one of the carriage horses. It had disturbed her how the young black stallion had nickered in greeting or how the groom had not batted an eye when the heavily cloaked stranger took the horse without so much as a reason why.

_He has lived among us,_ she thought as she looked at the people around her. _Unseen, unnoticed. Like the director of a play, the notes of music. Nobody thinks about them, but their effects are seen, felt…_ Nobody batted an eye in her direction for, in her dirty overalls and thick men's cloak, she looked more like a beggar than the ballet mistress.

She had tried to go with him, had begged him to take her with. When she realized that he was committed to help Julianne, she suddenly grew fearful of the force that she had released and wanted to make sure that he didn't hurt anybody but he heard nothing of it and merely rode out of the stables as if the devil himself was behind him. Or, maybe – Meg thought bitterly, in his case… God.

She rubbed her hands over her eyes, aware that she had not slept, and could not help but remember the lifeless forms of Joseph Buquet and Ubaldo Piangi. Although she had a sense that the man she had met in the dark was not the monster of the past, she could not help but wonder that, if he reverted to his vengeful side, if he somehow, someway killed for Ann or because of Ann as he did for Christine, that would make her just as much a monster as he was?

Or would it make him the hero?  
She closed her eyes again and hugged her knees to her chest. "What have I done?" she whispered softly. There was no answer save for the usual mid morning activity around the Opera. Sighing, her chest heavy with fear and anxiety caused by her forced wait, Meg pushed herself up and slowly went back up the Opera stairs. She just reached the top when she heard someone running up behind her. Meg frowned and turned around, just in time to see Christine push past her. Reacting quickly, she grabbed her old friend by the arm and pulled her back to face her.  
"Christine?" she exclaimed surprised when she saw the woman's tear stained face. "What's the matter? Why are you here?" She looked down to see Raoul exit a carriage at the bottom of the stairs. "Where's Julianne?"

Christine didn't recognize her immediately but blinked startled at her touch and tried to pull away. It was only when she spoke that she recognized her childhood friend in the men's clothes.

"Meg!" she exclaimed and closed her eyes, sagging against her grip. "Meg, I…" She bit her lip, but didn't start crying again immediately. Meg held onto her and turned an accusing look on Raoul who was slowly coming up the stairs as well.  
"What's going on?" she demanded. "Why are you here? You should be with Julianne! Where is she?"

Raoul's face was pained as he shook his head. "My wife insisted on coming back here," he said, his voice monotone. "She needed to tell you…" He didn't finish his sentence but turned his face away from them.

Her fear increased ten fold and Meg increased her grip on Christine, forcing the woman to look at her. "Where is your daughter?!" she demanded. "Christine, tell me!"

Christine shook her head and stood up a bit straighter. "She is still at Mackenzie's estates," she said softly, tears of shame gathering in the corner of her eyes. "I've failed her Meg. You were right to take her from us, we don't deserve…"

Meg swallowed against the sudden pain in her stomach. "Ssh…" she said softly. "Easy Christine, please – you're wrong. I had no right. Please, be still. Tell me what's wrong; tell me what's going on." She looked directly at Raoul. "Please."

Raoul, his expression grim, slowly stepped up to his wife and put an arm around her shoulders. "Monsieur Mackenzie will be sending Julianne to his mother in Scotland tonight," he said quietly. "He all but kicked us off of his estates. My wife… Christine is upset. She insisted on coming here to ask for your apology. And to tell you."

Meg stood very still for a few moments, her world spinning with possibilities. Then, suddenly, she found anger inside her deeper than anything she had ever felt before, including the one she had felt down in the chamber.  
"And you just left her there?!" she snapped. "In that house, alone, with that man! You fool! Betrothed or not there are things that he can do to her… will do to her… Julianne is an innocent, how could you just abandon her there?! And, allow him to send her away?! No!" She turned to Christine who could only stare at her. "No," Meg said again and stepped away from her friend. "I will not allow it." She started heading down the stairs again when Raoul grabbed her by the arm.  
"What do you mean to accomplish Meg?" he snapped. "We cannot interfere, he won't let us."

Meg all but growled at him. "And who is our master?" she sneered. "Tell me? Is it François Mackenzie? The Phantom of the Opera? Greed? Fear?!" She slapped his hand away and took two more steps down. "This has become ridicules… A ridicules act! With players and hidden agendas and _secrets_. We have all been so caught up in the past, so caught up with what happened here twenty years ago that we never bothered to see the tragedy unfolding before our very eyes." She snorted suddenly, bitterly. "Even I was blinded by the past and instead of dragging you back to this place and stop you from taking Julianne to him I allowed myself to…" She snorted and shook her head, turning her back on them. "What could he have done," she mused quietly, "that I cannot do for myself? How do I even know he's out there… helping?"

Christine hurried after her friend. "What are you saying Meg?" she queried.  
Meg Giry sniffed and looked at her friend almost sadly. "I wanted a ghost from the past to fix this," she said. "But what I really should've done is; try and help myself. Look at us Christine, Raoul. What have we become? Did we want to become like this? Three people, quite ready to leave a young woman to her dire fate because of fear? We cannot live in the past, Julianne needs our help now!"

Raoul stepped forward, his face ashen. "You are over reacting Meg," he said – his tone not unkind. "There is… Nothing that we can do. And Mackenzie will not harm Julianne. He can't."

Meg snorted and shook her head. "You are just as naïve as you were when you came here," she said. "A young whelp, besotted with his childhood sweetheart. François will break your daughter's spirit."

There was a long silence in which Christine turned to her husband, watching the internal battle that waged behind his troubled eyes. Swallowing against her own tears, she reached up and touched his hand.  
"She's right Raoul," she said softly. "We can't allow this. We haven't been thinking clearly. Even Julianne said so, even _she_ could pick it up that we've been ruled by our past."

Raoul looked at his wife, his hand lifeless in hers. "If we do this," he said quietly. "Our way of life is forfeit. We will loose everything Christine. Everything."

The woman dropped her head and squeezed her husband's hand. "And, do you think we would've been happy in our home, surrounded by all the splendour that Mackenzie's money can buy, knowing that we sacrificed our only daughter's happiness for it?" She looked up back into his eyes and saw for the first time that he was looking at her. Not through her, or past her, or beyond her as has become his habit but at her. Taking a deep breath, Raoul nodded slowly. "You're right," he said. "I… I have been a fool Christine. I'm so sorry." He looked at Meg who was already standing by the carriage. "We'll need fresh horses."

&&&

Sitting in the room, listening to the quietness of the manor around her, Julianne thought about the past. She thought about her childhood and how much her parents had done for her. She knew that she had not been an easy child to raise and she knew without a doubt that her parents had given her more opportunities to rise above her disability than she could ever have hoped for. She thought about Meg Giry and the influence the independent woman had had in shaping her perception of the world, of allowing her to grow further than her parents had ever hoped she would. Where her parents had taught her about life and how to cope with it, her aunt had _shown_ her how to live and had given her the freedom to do so herself. She thought about her brothers and how much she loved and missed them.

And, then inevitably, she thought of Monsieur Erik. At first, she allowed the memories of his presence to fill her, from the first day he led her out of the bowels of the Opera to the last day she heard him on the roof, his voice bitter with a pain he could not share. Then, slowly she realized how much she loved his voice, his presence around her and those rare moments that he went as far as to touch her.

It left a bitter taste in her mouth because she knew that she would never feel that way about François Mackenzie. She doubted that the man would ever see her as Monsieur Erik had and, through that, she betrayed him even further.

"_Never become a ghost Ann," _he had said_. "Never. You are more than that. You are not a ghost; you are the only thing that is real to me._ _Please, promise me. You must never become a ghost."_

Julianne took a deep breath, wondering if those words would ever leave her. They were what had spurred her initially to realize that she would not be able to marry François. And she wouldn't have, had it not been for her parents debt. Running her hands over her face, she leaned back and lay on the bed, breathing deeply – fighting for calm. She hated admitting it but she felt better now that her parents were away. Their emotions, their alarm and their pain crowded her own. Now, she could think clearer, slower.

_There had to be another way,_ she thought silently as she breathed in the smell of the unfamiliar bedding. _I can't give up like my parents. I can't…_

It hurt when she thought of them. After listening to her mother's story, Julianne started to feel a deeper understanding to the undercurrents she always felt at home but could never place. And the Opera…

She thought about her mother's mysterious teacher and shuddered, thinking about her own Monsieur Erik. There were parallels, she couldn't deny it. And, then Monsieur Erik had said that he had been responsible for some deaths at the Opera… Could it be coincidence? And, he taught her to sing, with the same exercises her mother had used… Maybe…

There was a knock on the door.

She sniffed and sat up frustrated. She knew immediately that it could not be Mackenzie for he would not show her that courtesy. It had to be one of the maids then, though they irritated her as well. She hated being treated like a child…

"Mademoiselle Julianne?" a voice asked after another knock. "Mademoiselle, I want to know if you need anything."

_Time to think,_ Julianne thought bitterly but stood up and smoothed out her dress. "Yes," she said. "You can come in…" She couldn't remember the girl's name. "I think…" the door opened and she smiled even though she didn't quite know where the young woman was. "Could we go for a walk? I need to get something."

&&&

To Be Continued…


	29. Author's Note

Author's Note.

Hey everybody.

Yes, writer's block struck me hard on this story and I really battled. I knew that I had said that I would finish it before 2008 saw its end but alas, that was not to be. Admittedly also, I had to make a choice between this story and another I had been working on and the other one won out, partly due to reader traffic and partly because it _really_ needed to be done before 2008. I'm not going to promise anything now, but let's just say I will complete this when I can. I'm sorry for disappointing you.

My thanks to Leah Day who Beta'd the first bit of this for me. I didn't have time to give it to her for the second round and last few paragraphs. Comes with living in a different time zone. ;)

Not much that I can say on content.

Have a super day and take care all.

Alyssa

-;--


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